


The Chosen One Unknown

by Ebony_Prodigy



Series: Adinkra Series [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Abuse, Adinkra Symbols, African Etymology, African Mythology, Angst, Blood, Broken Families, Dementia, F/M, Gen, Gore, Ignores Vergil-Nero Theory, Implied Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Medical Malpractice, Mental Illness, Sex, The Underworld Isn't Friendly People, Violence, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7746064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebony_Prodigy/pseuds/Ebony_Prodigy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slight AU; Post DMC4. Uncertainty a constant companion, grace under hardships an often presence, pride an event barely unknown. A life once forgotten must be embraced should she walk free, with limitations, into the future. VergilXOC, Dante.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grocery Shopping

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry or its characters. They belong to Capcom, unfortunately. Nor am I making any money off of this work of fiction. It is purely made for fun.
> 
> The Story: This little piece of fiction has an OC in it as well as Vergil...and Dante...and small appearances from the other cast of the DMC series. And other OC's as well. So please, if you are the type to hate every OC in the existence of writing, use the back button to find another story. Thank you.
> 
> There will be a slight amount of themes of the Adinkra/African religion. To the best of my ability, and that it flows with the story, I will explain them to you and provide info on it.
> 
> Story Tidbits: OC name pronunciation : My-shay.  
> Adinkra: Uh-deen-kruh  
> Ingonyama: In-go an-ya-mah  
> Nkyinkyim: Neh-key-in-key-em  
> Aya:Eye-yah  
> Afya: uh...af-ya
> 
> Apologies for the broken tongues trying to pronounce those words (sheepish grin)
> 
> Stats: un-Beta'd. 12 ½ hand-written pages/11 pages typed.
> 
> Final Word: Well then, read on!

Dark gray clouds launched a thick sheet over its citizens, enveloping the area in tones of the damper hue. Small, clear droplets of rain hailed down onto the city. People of various cultures moved as one to retreat from the falling force, scared to soak to the brim now that their shopping adventures stopped.

One woman seemed indifferent by the wilting weather, sitting alone on a bench. To the average layman she seemingly watched the world roll by, staring ahead with glossy eyes. Cracked air blew out in long exhales, her inhales crisp and sharp. Knuckles turned white from the solid grip under the bench with which she used to steady herself back in reality. Darkness consumed her vision until her sight opened into the standard setting; _it_ started to happen again.

An episode of hallucinations hit her without caution, exposing her vulnerability out into the public eye. Deranged images took possession of her psyche, forcing her to endure its questionable will. Common it was to see the warped perception every time for the past nine years.

There was a man; tall, tanned, and shirtless with ebony hair and glowing, avocado-hued irises. His cold eyes burned into her with a salacious leer. His malevolent smile promised to enact dreadful harm in the immediate future.

Out of her peripheral vision in her delirious state, she noticed weird intricate symbols carved along his torso. Some were high-lighted in green coloring, the others coated with specks of white and black. He inhabited a built structure, not overly strong but with sturdy muscular definition.

The man towered over something fixed with his intense stare. Except this thing he gazed at made her look at him from her perspective, like he lived as an entity inside her mind. She lowered her eyes, recognizing his hips moving in a thrusting motion.

The first time this instance occurred she imagined to have daydreamt, conjuring up someone to satiate a becoming, lustful hunger growing out of her then-teenage years. In the event she kept having this same experience however, did she believe otherwise.

The notion scared her, inclining towards a premonition foreshadowing this revelation taking root down the road. What exactly did this signify? Did it pertain to her dementia? And if so, why did it occur without warning in her life? Whether it maintained something simple akin to bathing to running daily errands, her illness always hit her when she didn't expect it.

The obvious option rested to see a psychiatrist, again, to update her diagnosis howbeit these episodes lasted a couple of minutes.

Reflecting on her past her and her double entity, more commonly known as a twin, had had enough of going to these "doctors" when she was a youth. One doctor tried convincing the guardians that the children suffered from a hereditary illness, which they vehemently denied.

Eccentric occurrences made a presence in her childhood, and she offered insight about it to her 'family.' Her sister shared the visions and thoughts too. They insisted that the twins undergo as many mental treatments to cure this issue. Her sister showed 'great results' interim the therapy, supposedly, didn't work on her. She'd like to trust that they worked at a point in time, though these recurring images proved otherwise.

When the ordeal transpired into its last stages, the black-haired man dissipated from her view, fading like a slide show blotting away its final presentation.

Rapid intakes of breath descended from its frantic pace; the tight hold around the bench loosened from its strong death grip. Blood pooled into singular digits, outstretching her hand to reel the fingers into a fist. Brown eyes closed, relishing in the freedom from her tormented vision. Long, deep inhales composed frazzled nerves before she returned to her place of employment.

In the happening that she underwent this affair, she took off outside to tough it out. The rising feeling of a claustrophobic atmosphere came to the forefront whenever it happened. Such a thing held almost a ritual then; after the circumstance came her anchor back to normality.

"Hey Maisha," A woman called out from the store's entrance, head turning to the right to see the person in question on a bench. "There you are girlie. Are you okay?" The female, 5'5 with a caramel complexion, walked to sit next to her. Halima remained the only friend Maisha inhabited comfort and conversation with about her 'problem.'

Her companion looked into the colorless landscape, tightening her blue sweater around her after a chill tore through her skin. Thunder roared and rumbled in the distance, igniting dormant fears into its remaining citizens scurrying to new locations. To punctuate mother nature's sudden fury, several streaks of lightning coursed through the sky, random people shouting in fear for the loud boom echoed with a violent strike.

"Ooh. Someone must've made momma nature a lil' pissed today, huh?" Halima's voice had specific, southern accented words in her speech; family hailing from the heart of Louisiana and naturally, it followed. Her original, thickened accent proved difficult for others to understand initially, yet as time went on her intonation took on a more subjective "normal" tone. An angered or emotional Halima brought the native tongue home.

"Yeah, it was in the upper eighties all week, and now this suddenly." Maisha rubbed her palms over her black jeans, looking in dismay at her light-blue button up shirt. The woman's lips turned downwards, her work uniform reminded her of what she had to return to. "But yes Hal I'm okay, for the moment."

"Were you having one of your..."

Maisha nodded, taking in her bottom lip and chewing it. Halima first witnessed this matter when she found her in the women's bathroom one day, looking upon the girl in the restroom mirror with a spaced out visage.

Halima approached her by calling her name. When she stood beside her with her presence unnoticed she resorted to shaking the woman, receiving no response. She pondered what medical ailments she experienced, torn between leaving her and going out to call for help. Questions probed endlessly for her next course of action; she didn't remember the supervisor briefing them on what to do when an emergency struck.

Would she be in danger of fainting or would she snap out of it? Is she having a moment to herself or was this something more serious? An instant later, as if nothing out of the ordinary just occurred, did Halima slowly see her come out of her eccentric reverie. Halima stood resolute to know what that was all about, and determinedly, adamant to keep it between them.

"How long did it last for this time?"

"Maybe... five minutes at best."

"So they're gettin' longer?"

"Hmm, depends on the dementia's mood, I guess." For the longest, the doctors named the sickness... or rather what the father was fine with the ailment being. He didn't care, he found it a grand reason to use her as a “pity” donation pool. It was better to leave her condition be than to find out any "improvements" on her circumstance.

She hated going to the facility. From the physical check-ups to the stories of malpractice and the staff reinforcing those methods, nothing beneficial came out of being treated at these medical facilities from a young age. At least for her it didn't.

Maisha toyed with her red-orange, wavy hair, the other hand coming up to scratch her left-shaved head, the right side of her skull held the other half of her concentrated locks. Since her youth, the elders always criticized her and her 'mother' for not dying her curls to a more appealing shade. They said it matched horribly with her white-peach skin. Despite them knowing that that had been her natural hair color, they wanted her to look normal because of her infantile antics scaring them. It made matters worse her twin looked the same way.

"You need another moment, hun?" Halima moved closer beside her, rubbing her back in small circles to offer comforting support. As good as it felt, she couldn't have her attitude further spoiled by her ass of a supervisor.

"No," she moped in light denial, reeling in her irritated mood to let the cordial one shine through. "Delaying the inevitable will only worsen things. Don't want Matthew barking down my back."

The man in question burdened their obligation to come into work during the week, the young Matthew Greene. His father was the supervisor of the place months ago and hired his son for the available spot, with Matthew thinking he controlled the employees. And just matching the arrogant hot-head he abided by, trouble followed him and his immature ways. Halima and Maisha capitalized on a particular... stealing-money-and-liquor-from-the-store... situation to use against him should he pester them beyond reason.

"Oh please, like he'll be stupid enough to muss with us."

"But that's it Hal, he is."

Both women shared a hearty yet bitter laugh at the memory. Maisha stood to stretch up high, moving to get some feeling back in her bones from sitting in such a stern position. "Is it your break?"

"Nope!" Halima shook her head, lips thinning into a mischievous smirk. "Ugh, unpackin' those canned goods are chewin' through my patience, had to take a break before I went on break."

Sitting comfortable, she huffed a strand of black hair out her face, burgundy-tipped at the edges which stopped at her shoulders. Her mane rolled into a ponytail, made in the design so it wouldn't annoy her throughout the day. Unlike the fiery-haired maiden who always had her locks down.

But it existed that way to hide peculiar "birthmarks" on the right side of her neck. Birthmarks that resembled ancient, African Adinkra emblems used to symbolize aphorisms and meanings of life, well at least the swirly-looking blemish did.

Even though she had one of her own willingly tattooed on her shoulder (of the independent symbol of Aya) Maisha was born with an Adinkra sign, or it bore resemblance to the visual style. On the top near her ear was the marking of a lion, Ingonyama's the name if her memory served correctly. And the bottom mark was the twisting insignia of Nkyinkym, enduring hardships while being graceful about it... or some shit like that.

Her grandmother delved into these types of "voodoo-isms" as a child and some stayed with her to pass onto Halima. Come to think of it, their parents must have had a fondness for naming them after African heralds. To some (and recalling their verbally insulting opinions), it would be foolish to label their offspring after something the culture may be offended by. But obviously that wasn't a concern in Maisha's case. Halima's made sense, her grandma remained an influential figure in the practices, dealing with these aspects and Maisha's... didn't.

Depending on the region, Maisha Afya's name translated into the phrase ' a lifetime of health': Maisha meaning life, afya; health. And Halima's, for the record, meant resourcefulness. A title she wore with pride since assholes presumed her to be a weak, little flower because of her small stature. Hence the tattoo to tell people the opposite. With the two symbols (the lion representing vitality and rejuvenation) added to her name's betoken, it joined to a more "supernatural" allusion.

_A lifetime of strength and health under hardships with grace and poise._

This idiom finalized its conclusion one day, Halima's grandmother reminding her of its symbolism, and the lessons she forgot. Dazed proved to be the holding expression to describe the fiery-haired maiden's reaction to hearing about her birthmarks. A solemn look flitted across her features; the slogan must have triggered an unwanted memory to the surface.

When probed further about their origins, she played innocent. The woman stayed true to her words; she didn't understand why she was born with them. The family, when Maisha asked at a young age, shrugged the inquiry away or ignored her, becoming irritable or nervous whenever the question arose. Her silent mirror image didn't worry about it much, then again her quietness led some to believe that she chose to be mute; to be oblivious to any odd occurrence around her.

What Halima realized about the girl survived her stubborn willpower. From the little bits and pieces she collected on her past, Maisha always looked for an answer when things turned crummy, and often they did. She prohibited an oppressive atmosphere gaining a hand over her. Just like her dementia. She didn't dwell on it, accepting this illness as a part of her life, searching to find a solution to continue her routine.

"Hey girlie." Maisha started walking back into the store, stopping when she heard her name. "Don't overcharge the oldies now. You know they're gullible you seed of greed."

"Oh come on, Hal. That's my specialty. It's the only way I stay alert in this hellhole!"

* * *

The rest of the day turned out slow.

Halima and Maisha took turns at the register, stocked foods, cleaned the restrooms, and swept the aisles. Maisha's last rotation on the register endured a boring venture, waiting there idly until her shift ended at nine at night.

Ozone and pollution blended to waft into the store, leaving a heavy, humid scent for all to endure right when they walked inside. A few consumers ran in to buy a few sparse items: soups, teas, milk, and chocolate syrup. When they were ready to pay for their final purchases, they wanted to chat the world away with her. While she didn't give two shits about any of their stories, it helped pass the time.

An elderly lady, thankfully story-less, irked her to the fullest. Maisha had wrung up several food packages, to which the old woman demanded a price check to ensure she wasn't swindled. The cashier, so tempted to over-charge the senior, didn't have it in her to play around so close to going home.

The elder had this irritating hand gesture, waving it as if to chop through a cinder block. Her sharp fingernails would attempt to scratch her eyes out should Maisha dare to lean forward. It made the elder's black-dyed, shoulder-length hair shake into her wrinkled face, aging somewhere into her late sixties. To add to Maisha's frustration, and her nerve to shut down the register, the woman produced her handful of out-of-order coupons to her 300 plus goods.

"Ma'am, are you aware of our coupon policy-"

"No, and if you had one you wouldn't ask me about it because I would have known. So now can you make this quick?"

An indescribable sensation prickled her insides, rising like a tidal wave to submerge rational thought deep under its force. However, before the ship of logic sunk into a temporary chasm of darkness, she came back from the feeling with a calm disposition... albeit ready to snap.

Maybe she would allow it just this once, in the silence of her mind.

She knew the woman upheld herself to those stingy, ornery folk. The kind that seemingly lived alone old and bitter; the ones who sneered and griped every time a small youngster came into their vicinity. If she assumed this correctly, though she didn't care to confirm, what was she doing buying this large quantity of food?

Her figure leaned on the hefty side, but appropriate for someone her age. Alas, the lime blouse, tan capris, black fanny pack and matching gladiator shoes crippled the claim about her build. To further brew her limiting tolerance, the items paired along with the coupons were spaced out; some already down the conveyor belt, a few waiting to be purchased and still in the basket.

The elder glared upon the youth's face, not caring if she looked to curse her out or stared. Her gray eyes soon rested on the cashier's vibrant hair, momentarily engrossed with the styled cut before giving a dismissive blink.

She could be one of those women who listened to that heavy rock music, having a degenerate boyfriend who abused her. Probably threw away her virtue by being an unwed mother. Those were the only types to work in places like this.

But oh, the color of her locks clashed horribly with her blue shirt.

"You get a lot of attention with your hair."

"Mm hmm." The teller replied, moving the least amount of facial expressions possible.

"… You should dye it to a more appealing color-"

"I see no reason to dye my natural hair color." Maisha's words were sudden to cut her off from saying anything more, barely keeping her temper at bay from lashing out at the woman. Her brown eyes bore into the elder's, silencing her from speaking should Maisha stop servicing her. "Why did you dye yours? Because your natural color is unappealing to you? By the way, you should go to a professional; your gray roots are showing."

The cashier continued on as normal, grouping the misplaced items together as best she could before the coupons were used. Even going as far to hum a jazzy tune to keep her mind focused, glancing a look at the clock on the wall. She had twenty minutes until she retreated to her own abode and allowed the stresses of the day flow out of her body.

Dark and gloomy weather correlated with depression, anger and hopelessness. Somehow, in Maisha's mind, the elder woman thought it hopeless to look as eye-catching as she existed. Her unjustified anger welled up inside her since her days of prettiness were over, leaving a forlorn depression in its wake. That's the only explanation she could come up with to understand the lady's grumpy mood.

Maisha grew to love her round baby face, deep-set eyes, neat nose and uneven lips; the bottom one much fleshier than the top. She favored her C-cup breasts and the slender waist below it, which swelled again to a rounded belly, above thick thighs. And, undeterred by the harrowing memories of the bodily changes, self-esteem issues, and teasing from the other girls she learned to embrace her pear-shaped figure. She didn't spend the last four years trying to _accept_ her natural looks only for someone to knock her down about it.

After pairing the goods with their respected paper savings, reigning in her bursting feelings, and calculating the total price ($131 for 315 items, what a deal!), Maisha glanced at the clock again. She had eight minutes until she left this economical prison and crashed asleep to her recessive freedom. It seemed like a long time, but she had a lone customer to attend to, then she'll be free. She ignored the woman's gaze, refraining from giving the feisty granny her best shit-eating grin to rub it in her sour expression.

"Thank you for shopping at Oppy Foods. Have a nice day!" She provided a mock smile instead, the one where it displayed her irritation and loathing. It came in the form of white teeth and lips turned upwards at the side.

"Hmph." The senior raised her head, turning up her nose at the cashier despite only being an even 5'4, and waddled on to bagging her groceries. How that little woman carried on to put all her groceries in that basket and lug it to her car... Maisha didn't care. Helping the elderly to their cars applied to her job description yet she had seven minutes to go; Matthew stingy in paying the workers for any overtime. Her attention returned to ringing up the next items, noticing a smaller batch of things, nodding with a thankful breath.

"Ah, the old ones are full of spunk and vivacity, huh?" A masculine voice aired out his question laced with traces of amusement.

"By spunk and vivacity meaning they forgot to take their Ritalin? Oh yeah, I agree."

"Heh, you went in a little tough on her, don't cha' think?"

"She was tough on me before she even got into my line."

Cappuccino hues glanced up to meet with pale blue ones, piercing into her with captivating intensity. She fixed upon his smiling face, strong jawline and chiseled cheeks. A small trace of stubble skittered across the bone structure, forming a faint goatee. But what caught her attention, and should've been the focus of the mean woman initially, was his white hair.

Layered bangs parted to the right as the style stopped at the nape of his neck. By heavens, she had never seen a mane so vibrant of a tint. The transition of hair color changed when one grew older, ranging from gray to the color white itself, but those shades paled compared to the hue he sported. And he looked nowhere near old.

There held a certain boyish charm his aura emitted, balanced out with this mature aloofness he displayed with ease. A black leather jacket with a red flannel fit snug on his torso and a black, cowboy belt held up fitted dark blue jeans. The man acknowledged his handsomeness in such a get-up, sporting it with high authority while he stood there. And though conceited men failed to leave lasting impressions on her, she made the exception to those who could prove their ego to the better.

"You rung that up three times already."

"… Oh, huh? Oops, sorry about that."

An item of a tea box, silver needle white, _happened_ to run by the scanner triple the amount under her assessment of him. Her fingers swiftly pecked on the keyboard in front of her, deleting the scanned package all together before ringing it up once.

The other objects went across the red light with no more interactions between them, mainly to avoid his pointed stare. Not on the basis of the male drive to take in her physical appearance, but trying to see past her looks... or maybe he just looked to look.

Observant reposed the term to describe people like that. The ones who remembered every little insignificant detail about your habits; could figure out your emotions and fears and toss them back into your face, if they were the vindictive type. Or use a chance to manipulate feelings and bend them to their will, crushing self-confident desires to be wiped away like dirtied shoes on a doormat. In another sense of the word, they are bullies.

Maisha finished scanning the items, sensing a slight blush creeping onto her cheeks. "Okay sir, that'll be $22.04."

"$22.04?" The man peered down at her with a questioning glance, appearing a little suspecting of her calculations. "You took the tea thingy off, right?"

"Yes. That item is on sale this week and it's $3.50 per box." So close to getting off work, she didn't care to double charge the consumers, at least not the ones who kept their eye on the register.

"Hmm, I don't feel like making you ring up the stuff again, uh, Ma-isha." He looked on her name tag longer than he should have, then resorted to giving her a smile.

"It's Mai-sha. And I don't think I should uh... ah-"

"Dante."

Hmm, the name suited him she realized, after staring at those white teeth. Yet something about his grin unnerved her, leaning towards the prospect of him being a predator of the sadistic type. She didn't know what gave off that vibe initially, but he sure did wear it like a perfume.

"Dante." She said once, clearing her musings from any straying thoughts, determined to sort out his problem with the total.

Her mind mentally recalled the items he had with skills honed over time: tea, $3.50; box of soap, $2.50; lemons, four for $1.00; honeydew melon, $2.98, kiwi, three for $1.00; cantaloupe, $1.98; Monterrey Jack cheese, two for $9.00. Ah, that's what it was. The dairy products hiked his total, not to mention that bothersome eight cent tax for the non-food item.

"Well Dante, you can thank those cheeses for bumping your score some."

"Oh really? How'd you guess?" He leaned in, intrigued she didn't look at the screen to determine the mistake.

"I picked up a unique gift working her for two years to remember what's on sale. Add that to the sale going on for seven days, me being at the register and unboxing the food... " She waved her hand in a motion to convey a repeated cycle. He made a show to get the hint, scrunching his lips together before he sent a nod her way. She continued, "Living on sales and bargains is what I strive for, even more so now that I'm grown."

Some emotion flitted across her features, Dante squinted to zone in on the target to decipher what it was. However, as soon as his eye detected the movement, she gave a dismissive blink, mouth turning into a smug smirk looking too practiced to be natural.

She held this specific quality, a confident fire rising out of a hidden, dark nature that took care to stay protected, keeping it guarded and close to her heart. Did her parents have a part to play in her statement or was there a more twisted side to her meaning? Did she adapt a certain survival ethic she adhered to while being all on her lonesome? He wasn't one to intrude in on people's lives, but she had this magnetic zeal he couldn't quite explain the reason being drawn to it, partially.

"Yeah, nothing like a bargain to make you feel good. Alright lil' lady, you've convinced me." Dante pulled out four five dollar bills and a single, patting around his pockets to see if he had any more spare change. He occupied doubt his whole cost would be over twenty dollars. Maybe he should let her ring everything up again...

"Since I'm feeling a little generous today, how about I pay the dollar and nickel for you."

"What makes you think I ain't got it?" Dante raised his eyebrow at her, a bit insulted that she speculated he wasn't financially sufficient in paying for his products... howbeit correct, at least right now. That damn hunting brunette assumed he walked with an ATM sign on his head, much to his annoyance.

Maisha simply pointed to a wall, Dante following a finger to a clock, 8:57 meeting his line of sight.

"So this has nothing to do with hurting my pride at my inability to pay?"

"… Wait, you don't have enough money?" It was her turn to raise an eyebrow, asking with an amused tone to not hurt his feelings.

"Yeah I do.” _Actually I don't_. “Just that the spare change is in one of these pockets of mine." _Or rather in Lady's_.

"Oh, I know." She dug in her front pocket, withdrawing five singles that were all wrapped up. She separated two of the bills from the rest, taking his money and putting it in the register. "The male is one of the most disorganized species on the planet." She gave a sweet smile to mean no harm in the statement, but in her experience, they were.

Ninety-six cents came out of the transaction, in which she held the coins out before him in a friendly gesture. He smirked but lightly shook his head, stepping away to bag his items.

 _Your pride is not getting in the way, buddy_! The cashier grabbed the front pocket on his jacket and pulled him closer, shooting him a wry look before shoving the receipt and change into the little space. A few pats were given to his pouch, the woman turning to shut down her equipment.

"I'm pretty sure that was illegal. You're not worried about your boss catching you giving-"

"The boss can kiss my fat ass for all I care. It's Friday and I am out of here."

Dante gave a hearty chuckle at her determination, seeing how her mentioning of her posterior drew his eye south to her curves. True, her hips stuck out from the rest of her body, which he lingered to oogle at, but the blue shirt she wore was too big for her. Even though she indicated her shift ended, he had to head on home to his own abode and attend to his responsibilities. Would be nice if he could walk her to her car and possibly get her digits...

"Besides, the next time you come here, you can have your money right at the ready."

"That's smart... I'll try that."

"You'd better."

The cashier watched the man walk down the aisle, pushing against the conveyor belt pad while readying the brown paper bag. He inhered quite the charmer, a gentleman with gorgeous features, tall and strong with confidence soaring to the highest high.

The kind she... loved to stay away from.

Those characters brought trouble to anyone foolish enough to fall in their charismatic trap. These 'types' used this façade to hide their monstrous personalities, able to make someone feel anxious and muddled, as miserable and worthless as she did after a loathing strapping from her 'father.'

Shaking those sordid memories from her past, she walked towards the employees' area, almost jumping in surprise with the woman's cold look. The senior's energy focused on her like she was the only other being in the room. Two men, looking in their forties, had since showed to help with the items.

Honestly though, the woman insulted her without so much as a second thought, and when she stiffened her spine, the wench had the nerve to be mad _at_ her? Well who cares. She was on her way home to plop down face first on her bed. Good times shall be plentiful once she rested on that nest of plush pillows and soft sheets.

And her attention to her goal nearly fled away, calming her riled up nerves at the indignant use of the word 'bitch' to justify the elder's opinion when she passed her. The best course of action to take simply involved ignoring her and continuing on with her day. However, she couldn't let the lady disrespect her, regardless of the age. How can she resort to such childish tactics as if she didn't know any better?

Perhaps she lingered in the beginning stages of growing senile.

Fingers raked through red-orange waves, extending the tresses before she grabbed the base of her roots. She swung the mane in front of the jealous granny with a haughty smirk etched onto her visage. This notion showed every sign of embittering the profile on the senior's face, Maisha seeing the woman follow her out her line of vision. She reached the employees' door, intending to turn around to give the ancient pessimist one more glimpse of her envious beauty when another pair of eyes stole her attention.

The handsome fella, Dante, seemed to enjoy the little show, amusement glittering in his eyes as he continued stuffing the brown bag. He gave her a knowing looking before he shook his head, white strands falling over his eyelids to hide his expression. It was then she disappeared behind the door and completed the final act of shedding "off" her working demeanor. She shared a small laugh; Dante insinuated to share her sentiments on the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, I guess...I'll try my best to deliver a story worth reading...I hope. Drop me a line and tell me what you think!
> 
> P.S.: I don't want anyone to think that I'm just throwing an illness in there just for the sake of it. I know Dementia/Alzheimers usually happens in older adults, but some children can get it through hereditary factors and infections, so I will be elaborating on it folks. 
> 
> P.S.S.: I know about the race of my OC and I am well aware that I am talking about African culture in here, but the relation with Maisha and the African culture, too, will be delved upon later. If this bothers you too much, then I thank you for your time and hope you can find a story that suits your needs. Cultural mixing is nothing new folks, and judging by the world's current state, no more cultural mixing should take place and that's a crying shame. I plan on making a small series with different OC's including werewolves, shamans, witches, faeries and the like, so stay tuned if you feel inclined to.


	2. Late Night Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Story: This little piece of fiction has an OC in it as well as Vergil...and Dante...and small appearances from the other cast of the DMC series. And other OC's as well. So please, if you are the type to hate every OC in the existence of writing, use the back button to find another story. Thank you.
> 
> Story Tidbits: OC name pronunciation: Mah-so-zi  
> A subscript is in the story and its definition will be in the author's notes.  
> This is originally Chapter 1, but it was too big so it was split into two.
> 
> Stats: Beta-Lohce Azcry. 7 ½ pages hand-written/10 pages typed.  
> Final Word: Get ya' readin' on!

Four minutes passed since she grabbed her purse and coat, 9:01 showing on the clock walking towards the door. Halima disliked leaving an hour later after her; Matthew saying something about "balancing the schedules" with their limited staff. As a result, Maisha frequented in calling the woman half past ten every night, more of a means to make sure she traveled home safely.

Bizarre cases of murder had infiltrated the region, encouraging a frantic atmosphere amongst the citizens. Well, _this_ section of town dabbled in murders but they veered closer to her community.

Her neighborhood could stand a few city upgrades. Like streetlamps. Streetlamps would be a significant improvement to that dark abyss that was her street. When an opportunity arose to move to a better location, she promised to jump at the chance to do so. But the duplex she lived in had an affordable rent plan...

Her arms slipped into the white jacket, holding it tighter after the temperature dropped twenty degrees from earlier. The rain pounded the ground with its relentless shower, spraying onto the sidewalk in a frenzied splatter.

She drove a 2006 Lexus RX, sitting at the back of the lot because the manager complained the front spaces belonged to the customers. As if they scrambled to flood to this area to shop here and like he actually gave a shit where they parked.

Espresso-hued eyes strained to see clearly, heavy sheets of rainfall dimming the lights of the street lamp. A few cars populated the car park, businesses surrounding the parking structure had closed early for the evening. The human species deserted this location, leaving the hefty drumming of rain drops for company.

In this onslaught her cheap boots would soak through to her socks, the puddles too deep to avoid and her truck too far for the inside of her feet to remain dry. Her hoodie found residence on top of her head, surveying the area to see the safest way to proceed.

Three figures in colorless clothing stood by the baskets. At first glance she thought they were her male co-workers, but they wouldn't take a break so close to getting off of work. Scents of an herbal essence swirled in the atmosphere. Maisha covered her nose, the smell enveloped her in a nauseated state, bringing forth the trance of a delirious nature.

The group chatted amongst themselves until their attention spanned in her direction, words becoming lower and fainter until it stopped. There was no need for alarm though, they were probably under-aged brats sneaking out to hit that kush[1] late at night, in the cold, out in the rain... with nobody else around.

Perhaps they waited on someone under the building's shelter to let the rain die down prior to trotting home. Whatever the case, she felt fine with them being there as long as they didn't _bother_ her before, during, or after she got to her car. But why did they stop talking when they saw her?

She turned to face them, briefly observing that all three were fair-skinned, paled beyond reason thanks to the frosted air stealing the warmth of their blood. What began as a quick glance deviated into a staring contest. Maisha's nerves ignited on fire, nails digging into her palm to suppress her shaking at their leers.

Under the yellow overhead lights the males appeared much older, two of them with mustaches and one with a goatee. Her earlier thoughts seemed invalid; these men carried a questionable presence and it made her eager to leave their sight. Nothing to fret over, but killings frequented the radius of her residence and she could never be too careful.

Withdrawing her car keys from the coat pocket she clicked the container of pepper spray open, thinking to gauge their intentions and see her available exits to escape, if the situation shifted to a grim ending.

She started moving at a brisk pace to the left, removing her hood to listen to the rhythmic slush steps of someone walking.

Shortly thereafter, she heard the footsteps.

Three distinct steps melded together in uneven movement, each step taken accompanied by the wet grains on the ground. Shoes scratched the cemented surface, collectively crunching the dirt particles closer into the sidewalk.

 _Shit!_ Her plan had been to walk to the left to see what they might do, then turn out onto the parking lot and run to her car. The woman didn't expect them to tail after her, and their strides sounded adequate to catch up to her. Or maybe she over thought it, they may have moved to go into the store.

Maisha looked into the black, reflective glass of the market window, seeing the males pass the store entrance and trail in her direction.

A cold tingle soared down her spine, breath catching in her lungs prior to a sharp exhale forcing its way out. The cloud full of white smoke swirled behind to drift away in the wind. Her right hand unconsciously came up to cradle her heart; the muscle felt to jump the pulses per minute to somewhere in the upper hundreds. Palms began to sweat while brown eyes searched for an escape route.

On dark nights, she would wait in the doughnut shop until the owner could watch her on her departure. Police calls were pointless in this part of town. An individual survived on luck if the patrol system arrived in the response time of twenty minutes. Turning back now would make no sense, unless she wanted to ask them the reason they followed her.

If their plans involved harming her, she could bump into a vehicle to set off the alarm. Someone would come out and help her in her desolate situation, right?

Her outcome looked bleak. To the front of her presented a dead end, to the side an open landscape to be captured, and the back held those three. So little choices to execute a limited evacuation.

She passed by the last column of the store, leaving the safety of the sidewalk in preparation to sprint to her truck. Another shadowy figure came into her view, leaning against a hot red muscle car, looking straight out into the nearly pitch black distance. Was this planned? The men practically herded her in this direction with the getaway car prepared to go.

"Well now, looks like you are in a hurry to get home."

 _Hey, I know that... Hold on a minute, is he still here_? She recognized those vocal cords, remembering the deep timbre not too long ago. Yeah, that awfully handsome guy, Dante was his name.

Relief washed over her being like a calm flood, but dried up as the fear returned, wondering his reason for being out here this time of night.

Dante turned to face her, wearing a black beanie, and proceeded with his tactful fixation of her. A moment later he looked over her head, Maisha copying the action to see how soon her pepper spray would have to be used. Behind her left an empty scene, devoid of the three goons following her.

Did they... stop in the back of the pillar and wait for an attack or were they not with Dante? She would have heard them run off scared, the noises of the wet, grainy ground too loud to sneak off of quietly.

"You walkin' in this weather?" he asked, voice growing louder to speak over the abrupt thunder rumbling in the sky.

"No, uh, I came over this—my car is way over... over there."

Dante placed his right elbow on top of his hood, lacing his fingers behind his head. Those questionable assholes spooked the girl silly, thinking it mighty chivalrous of himself to watch her a little longer.

When he first ventured outside the store there wasn't a living soul standing around in the dank weather. By some force of trickery, a common familiarity in his line of work, did these perplexing men appear without noise.

Intrigued, he surveyed the group to inspect what these individuals planned to do. It was senseless to be out in this damp chilliness for leisure. Their presence seemed off, though he couldn't place the reason for his intuition.

The feisty elderly woman came out first; the two men tagging along with her left to put the groceries in her dented Cadillac. In their absence she searched inside her purse, tiny widgets falling out to swirl in the breeze, seeming oblivious to the things slipping out of her mobile locker.

A five dollar bill blew his way (to which he happily pocketed) but she bent with a swiftness even more surprising, to pick up her pink-colored lipstick. In the process of her helpers being preoccupied, this vulnerable act should prompt immediate action from the males, but they ignored her.

Three minutes later brought about a similar scenario. Maisha stood outside on her lonesome, noticing the men then trying to test what they intended to do. An unarmed dame like her would fall prey easy. However an old lady, much more shorter and fragile than she, would have gone down twice as easily.

It may have been the beauty factor. Maisha's facial characteristics wove together to make her a pretty little thing, a curvy one at that, and it might be hard not to stare at her unique portrait. To do what with those features... Dante didn't want to know.

Unless if he had a shot at her.

"Where's your car?" he asked.

"In the back."

Dante frowned, lines forming between his eyebrows. "… of this lot? Why would you park way over―"

Maisha shrugged, eyes rolling for Matthew’s excuse. "My boss is a dumbass. Complains that customers don't have access to quick shopping if we all take the closest parking available."

"Uh-huh. And when is this place packed?"

"On the first of every month and on holidays."

"Today's the ninth.”

"Yeah well, tell him that."

The woman stood unsure of her next move, shifting from foot to foot. The rain came down in powerful waves, drowning out amplified sounds even to the easy of hearing.

It will mean so much to her if he walked her at least halfway to her truck, maybe watch her to make sure she safely got in. She had no idea if those men were behind the column or headed into the store.

Perhaps pulled a Houdini.

"Need a lift to your car?"

 _Dear Heavens yes_! "Uh, um I would..."

He sensed her trepidation, nervousness fleeting throughout her form because she didn't know how to respond. She probably assumed he affiliated himself with those hooligans or had reservations about hopping into the car with a complete outsider. Both are valid precautions, though he was on a time constraint and he needed to get back home.

He and cold weather weren't the best of friends so walking her in this weather―nope, out of the question. Watching her speed walk to her vehicle or stay to see if the thing started wasn't on his agenda either.

"Come on, I'll give you a lift over there to save you the trouble."

Brown-sugared eyes focused upon him, pleading to him her need to safely get to her truck, but wanting another solution not involving hopping into a stranger's car. Granted, he did seem like a genuine guy, but those were usually the sociopaths. She might feel much more comfortable if he could follow her movements until she reached her transportation.

"If I wait for you to reach your ride, I won't be able to rescue you from those three dudes in time. At least not without pulling out a weapon."

That didn't help convince her on the matter.

This guy carried a weapon? Sure people packed heat (and who wouldn't in this town), but he didn't have to _tell_ her. And what would happen if she got in the car? Pull out his gun and signal the other three to move closer? What if he wanted to kill her instead? Inasmuch, how long did he wait out here to observe those guys?

She sighed, biting her lips to escape an impulse judgment. She saw the shows. Dozens of women getting "help" from these strangers in unknown places and they went missing. Often sometimes raped and killed because they were helpless to begin with. Yet she had her pepper spray as her defense mechanism.

Knowing this brought a small sense of relief, but she needed more convincing, on his part, to drive her over there. Still, that niggling sensation scratching her skull said that this man, this Dante was too good to be true. What spurred this feeling on endured his knowledge of, she hoped, what those men were up to and the claim to have a weapon.

Damn it, why was this so hard of a decision to make?

If he had any foul advances towards her, she could always hop out of his ride and phone Halima for help.

 _Halima_.

A pinched expression lingered briefly on her face. Why didn't she head back inside and tell her friend to watch her walk to her truck?

The smart thing clung to thank her once-customer for his offer and dial Halima instead. But what of those three men? What if Dante drove off and they attacked her before Hal met her? What if the woman didn't answer her phone or turned it off? The risks weighed too great to ignore if she waited, but the sooner she left the better. Honestly, her options disintegrated.

With slow steps she moved to the passenger's side, Dante already opening his side to awaken the engine. Her mind kept chanting the word 'stupid', berating her for her lack of common sense, opting to go with this man. Her life lingered into the hands of this foreign stranger, and there was no definite foreshadowing of him keeping true to his promise.

With the handle to the COPO Camaro grasped to push the knob in, the door opened outwards, her left leg stepping inside the car. Her heart drummed in her rib cage, knowing this presented her final opportunity to turn around and secure her life.

Taking care of herself built an ingrained habit over the years, minding her own business to ensure her eyelids opened the next day. Pride reposed a concept she knew when to ditch and when to preserve, when to bend to it and when to stand against it. And in this instance she all but ignored it.

She climbed into the seat, joining her right foot with the other and her fingers moving to the handgrip. Maisha pulled the door closed, leaving her hand on the handle, staring straight ahead. A pleasant, gentle breeze blew on her, her body ensnared in goose bumps to toast away the cold. She wanted to scoot closer to that warm air yet her paranoia stilled her form.

An awful roar startled her, armed at the ready with her forefinger pressed on the nozzle of her spray. Eyes bulged out in expectance of some great, hulking beast to leap at her. Her can aimed at one of the air vents, unfamiliar to the origin of the sound but keeping her guard up.

Headlights appeared in a bay of soft, yellow light. The interior of the dashboard lit up, heavy rock music eased through the speakers. Maisha searched with frantic eyes, circling the spacious area until they landed on her, hopefully, temporary savior.

A frozen expression ignited his visage. Eyebrows disappeared under his beanie, piercing blue irises turned from curiosity to confusion to concern... for his car smelling of soiled onions and pepper. He looked at her with caution, his right hand coming up to grasp her alert hand gently, lowering it into her lap and patting it to stay there.

"You are one jumpy little thing aren't you?"

"Sorry I just... I'm a bit-"

"I know, I know," he said, placing the same hand on the back of her head rest to look behind him, backing the Camaro in reverse in a swift motion. "I'm a stranger, you don't know anything about me, we don't know each other, I might be a serial killer... blah, blah, blah."

He turned out of the parking space and rotated the wheel straight, neglecting to make a left to where her transportation parked. All the warning bells went off simultaneously in her mind; her natural reaction to defend herself prominent because the worse seemed prone to happen.

"Relax," he increased the flow of the heater, adjusting his beanie to see more, "I'm taking you around cause' I don't want to go through all those car 'bumper' things like a maze." He scratched the side of his face in contemplation before adding in a little quip of his own. "Though if it gives me a chance at saving a fine lady, I don't mind."

She smiled in return, giving a short chuckle since her nerves were damn near shot. She stole quick glances out of her peripheral vision, looking at his side profile and how gorgeous he rested on the eyes. Men aren't naturally that handsome, at least the ones she ran into. And if they are, a woman was there to tidy him up, maybe the possibility of him being gay?

Or he was a gigolo.

"You are shitting bricks, girl."

"What gave me away?"

 _Your sweating fear is nearly suffocating me_. "You have a death grip on the door."

Brown eyes looked to her palm, veins bulged and popping out with the strength she used to grip the handle. With reluctance she slowly placed her hand in her lap, tingling skin displaying her nervous nature.

Much to her satisfaction he turned in the back entrance of the lot, Maisha torn between reaching over and hugging him or hopping out the car while it still rolled. He pulled up to her driver's side, turning the radio down some before he saw her leave.

"I can't thank you enough Dante, really."

"Ah, don't sweat it. Can't let the ladies get mauled and maimed if I can help it."

A rather solemn simper appeared behind the expression, eyes colder than the warmth it exuded minutes ago. What did he mean by 'if he can help it?' Did he hang around in dark areas where women congregated and escorted them when safe; to somewhere safe?

Was he an off-duty officer in disguise? If so, why didn't he mention it? Why be so secretive? Perhaps he didn't want to tell her aloud in case those goons realized his ploy. Still, a badge or a wink ordained to make her play along with the scenario.

"Are you... a cop or something?"

"Eh... I guess you can say that... of a particular 'unholy' sort."

"Unholy sort?" She scoffed a little. "What, like ghosts and goblins? Or are they just assholes?"

"All three wrapped into one."

Are his words accurate or is everyone in this town a bit loony? Creatures that went bump in the night existed in one's paranoiac mind, sights and sounds of an unsure intuition filled its person with an unnecessary fear.

Shadows bathing in dark blue skies were nothing more than the moonlight casting complex figures that materialized like monsters on the walls. And if there chanced upon a figure's shadow moving, it more than likely belonged to a mugger or criminal staying close to the darkness. Animals populated the moonlit veils; they can inherit part of the blame for the disfigured scenes too.

Or was this something she told herself thanks to her own experience with the things holding a presence after the sun fell below the horizon? Memories of a past wanted to be forgotten poured into her psyche, overflowing with images of ghoulish faces and eerie voices presumed to exist in the fictional world of movies.

A product of countless scares to her mother and spankings from her father said it wasn't true. Many visits to the head doctor and various, high dosage pills said she was mentally ill. An abundance of rumors spread around the neighborhood gave way to harmful teasing.

Her only sanity she could go and cry to was her own flesh and blood. It's a shame really, the period when she needed Masozi the most stumbled into her ascension into teenage hood; the time Masozi disappeared.

Shoving the rest of her childhood in her mental prison, she offered her temporary savior a genuine smile. A gracious thanks flew in his direction as she closed the door and climbed into her own truck. It lit right up, the woman rubbing her hands together to knock the chill off, moving to turn on her own heater prior to the cold freezing her out.

Eyes glanced into the rear view mirror to see the red car pull off, later turning around to face the exit the way he came in the parking lot. Oh great, now he would wait on her? She appreciated the gesture but she's a big girl. She managed to stay safe... when she isn't outnumbered... at night.

Backing out of the driveway had its difficulties. The clouds hid the natural light of the moon and the dim streetlamps provided scant coverage. The man with the iceberg blues had to back up to keep his front from being hit.

Tepid, breezy air flowed from the vents, circulating the feel-good heat throughout the truck. She sensed the warmth teeming into her body, becoming more conscious and alert of her surroundings. At least she would be if it wasn't so murky.

The car's brights turned on, illuminating about ten feet worth of landscape for her viewing. She pulled out of the lot and went to the first stop sign, her "officer" pulling up beside her in the oncoming lane. Both windows from opposite cars rolled down, the respected drivers leaning towards the other to listen over the wind and rain.

"You take that ass on home now, ya hear."

Maisha flooded into a fit of giggles, smiling bright and wide, muscles easing from their tense pull. Her mood had lifted, her survival would be intact for another day, thanks to him.

"Oh, I plan on it."

Her suspicions laid open a little underneath her gratitude. Those men had... somewhat up and disappeared? Where did they go? Were they too scared to attack since Dante showed? But she wasn't out of the clear yet. All the same, it seemed unlikely now, what if Dante followed her home or told one of his lackeys to do it? Is he really her rescuer or he just kept up the façade?

"And where are you going?"

The man focused on something in his rear view mirror, Maisha looking into her own but the rain clouded her vision. Perhaps he caught sight again of those shady figures and... his protective instincts kicked into gear? Whether he did or not, it carried out the chance to head on home, safe from this treacherous area.

"Well, I can't thank you enough for what you did today. Hope to see you around."

His eyes flicked over to hers, expression changing from stern to soft when she spoke. He engrossed himself with whatever enraptured his attention, resuming to observe in the mirror. And she decided to leave him to it.

Pools of warm cappuccino glanced in his direction once more, pressing on the gas to accelerate forward. Dante's car lights dimmed the further she traveled, darkness keen to swallow him in their depths.

He correlated to that of a mysterious person, walking along the line of fiend and friend yet she couldn't place the reason for her judgment. A sincere generosity oozed through his pores, hiding over this ominous-like interior holding a dark presence. Akin to a sociopath blending well in society. Not to mention his profession of apprehending those of the "unholy" nature.

Her turn came up, Maisha slowing down to see Dante... still in the same lane. Curiosity ebbed at her conscious to view what happened but logic stepped in, telling her to leave him be and to truck it to her residence. Despite the good Samaritan role he played, she shivered over the wicked vibes pouring off of him, like the bad guy who tried to play innocent.

The horn honked twice in a final goodbye. The noises the atmosphere belted out strummed in a heavy rhythm. She didn't think he heard it at such a distance, but it wouldn't hurt to try.

Hands rotated the steering wheel to the left, right foot lightly pressing on the gas when a heavy beep sounded somewhere behind her. So he did catch her good-bye.

If he was in trouble, he would have flashed his brights or blew the horn like crazy. However, he can take care of himself and it bordered on the time she did the same. Maisha peered into the mirror for the last peek and smiled as the car veered onwards, soothing jazz music drowning out nature's becoming wrath while she drove home.

* * *

"Ugh, finally. I made it!" The woman kicked off her shoes, tossing her jacket and unbuttoning her blue blouse, trudging up the stairs to where her grandiose bedroom resided.

Deep burgundy drapes and a matching king-sized bed added to the abstruse lair of mystic grace. In the far corner by the window stood a rich, dark oak desk and chair, littered with intimate items and perfumes. Opposite her adult crib rested a walk-in closet and next to her bed, a door to the simple but elegant bathroom.

Glitter green-polished toes connected with the beige carpet, persuading her to walk a straight line to her bed instead of changing out her wet clothes. Inviting as the idea sounded, she had to make sure Halima made it home safe. No matter how tired she felt, how exhausted, irritated or sick, the only woman she gave a speck about received her genuine concern.

Opting to head into the bathroom first, she opened the door and nearly slammed it shut, the unclosed window above the bathtub harvesting the musky, clean air. She reached under the vanity, utilizing the teeth cleaning supplies before her soft sheets soundlessly rocked her to sleep.

The sound of buzzing distracted her, running out the little cube to grab her cell phone, minty fresh toothpaste drooling down her chin. The cellular slid open to read a message from Halima.

Matt-boy is a bitch! Made it home safe. TLK 2 U 2morrow. Txt me bck I'll kill U XD!

Maisha produced a grin that faltered into a frown, a gooey blob poured out her mouth onto her t-shirt. Setting it down on the bed, her feet rushed to kiss the chilled white-tiled floor, washing the fluoride gunk out. Another breeze shot into the small corner, reaching up to slam the window shut.

Nightly regimen completed, including a nice scrubbing of the face, she slid on a new black t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. She didn't have a care towards the extra large size, opting for the comfort it provided in the chilly temperature.

Hazelnut assuaged her senses under the cold blanket, failing to give her the immediate warmth she craved. With the coldness biting through her clothes, she jumped out of the soothing platform and looked in her closet. A heavy blue comforter pulled out the space to put over the one she had.

Maisha moved around until she felt comfortable, burrowing deeper in the added warmth. The weather raged on in fervent fury, pounding against the roof in endless drones. Her thoughts shifted to the latter half of the day and its outcome.

If Dante wasn't there, she can't fathom what may have happened being on her lonesome. Halima might've taken too long to respond, and a high doubt lagged that she could fend off an attack of at least one of them, let alone three. In spite of the event, did it really matter now since she was safe and out of harms way?

Her arms stretched over her head in cat-like movements, relieving the last amounts of tension forced onto her body. On the chance that such a similar case went down again, she would know the precautionary measures of its prevention. Her vehicle will park right in front of the store and stay there until ready to leave for home.

"Matthew can kiss my fat ass for all I care. No one shops at that shitty place anyway." The reassuring thought brought a smile to her face, breathing slowing down for sleep started to pull her in. The pitter-patter of rain droplets rhythmically pounded against the window, aiding slumber to take control of her.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: [1] kush-slang for marijuana, weed.
> 
> I know ya'll wanted to see Verge, but he'll be in the next chapter. He wasn't ready to make his semi-entrance yet...
> 
> Not much to say here, other than to thank my beta for looking over the chapter and giving some pointers!
> 
> I bid thee farewell (for now) so drop a line or two and tell me what you think!


	3. I Hate To Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story Tidbits:  
> Subscripts are in the story and their definition will be in the author's notes.

Yellow irises glimmered bright in the rear view mirror, Dante quick to catch the glowing reflection and holding its stare; neither sight wavered from the other. Well, he called it an "it" for human eyes were not yellow. Shades of dull green reflects off of eyes yes, or even a light brown, but not _yellow_. At first glance, he perceived the glow as the street lights playing tricks on him. However, when three separate sets of peepers held his gaze did he clear that thought.

"It would appear I have Scouts taking residence in my territory," he said in a thoughtful gesture, irritance showing on his face for more unwanted food turned up on his plate. "Oh, this is just perfectly _wonderful_."

Human beings who wanted to live and dwell in darkness converted into Scouts; to gain a couple nifty powers to be stronger than what they deemed they weren't. To achieve this feat, they snitched for devils that couldn't step foot onto this plane. Their job description included tracking down demons who regarded their heritage as "uncool" and reporting back to their masters of their whereabouts.

These Scouts didn't harbor violence from the gossip through the grapevine. And they served no threatening purpose of the physical kind, hollowed out shells of their former selves were all that remained.

What reason did they have to follow this woman so closely? Once the delivery boy found the package, the info then traveled to their master and they sent the trouble. Uncommon for them to trail someone in a group, one person completed the task. The damned they went after, humans should hold no interest to them.

This 'Maisha' person smelled normal. He didn't pick up oddities on her save for the funky hairstyle and color she rocked. She possessed pleasant physical characteristics and he assumed they wanted to assault her, but they aren't the violent type; cowardly traits increased a notch with what tiny demonic magic flowed in their blood.

Somewhere off in the distance a horn blew, Dante already knowing the woman giving her final thanks before she drove on home. It was too late and too dark for her to do anything else but that. He honked the signal twice in return, returning to the cloaked figures descending into darkness.

Murders around this part of town increased due to a "special" visitor from down under, inducing these fiends to strike out in cowardly behavior. Citizens stayed in their homes; well the smart ones did. Those who caught wind of the rumors lived sane enough to avoid going out at night, and then there were those who... swam in a sea of disbelief.

The area he resided in allowed him the scarcity of neighbors. Many of the homeless and lonesome took up residence there, holed up in whatever hovel of a home they had like little hermit crabs. They took solace in dark themes, comfort the feeling most associated with their entire existence on occasions.

New species of brutes infiltrated his neck of the woods, guarding his territory with reinforced efforts. Many calls he received for jobs left him wary about leaving his premises, especially at night. A particular recipient came under his care and his chance to eradicate vermin in the outside world slowed, passing assignments to Trish and Lady.

A time or two he thought to bug Nero to help him out, but he carried a priceless heirloom that would send certain "foreigners" into a frenzy if they sensed the dark blade's presence. Needless to say, this visitant required financial services towards specific needs, and the resources he obtained were running low.

If his concern wasn't so high to leave and take on these missions, he'd be more than financially sufficient to buy more items to _his_ liking. If his lack of restraint could have held off until today then he'd go home with a pizza to aid in the assortment of his questions.

Dante paid off his Pizza One tab of the multiple pies he consumed with voracious fervor. And the owner was forever grateful to accept the payment, the whole $2000, and decided to let Dante set a tab limit of $100.

Is that even a realistic amount for him? As much as he ate the stuff daily, all he received in return was a $100 credit limit?

He wondered if the proprietor justified revenge from the lack of payments. Originally he repaid his tab at the end of the month but... it kinda got off track. Demons and whatnot destroyed his transportation methods and he needed money to cover the repairs.

Almost four months ago, a grand job of immense proportions crossed his path, and the payout of such a feat went towards his debt to Pizza One. He felt sentimental of the parlor's loyalty to him, granting his requests for the satisfying flavors of tomato sauce, Parmesan and pepperoni rolling down his throat. The savory meals expanded his stomach with a relaxing heat the only way pizza knew how.

The manager, Clayton, never looked so happy when he gained the bountiful payment. But in return for his gracious deed, his loan... extended... to only $100? A large pizza ran about eleven bucks a pop. Given his morbid consumption of the delicatessen, he only secured nine pizzas before he had to pay.

That... stung. It crushed his heart, like someone ripped it out and stuck it in a pizza-molded Iron Maiden. "After all the orders and calls I've placed, this is my reward?" Dante remembered that conversation so vividly it hurt.

When the news first reached his ears of his lessened "freebies" it didn't sink into his mind. But when Clayton held the same "I'm sorry" expression did Dante realize the severity of the situation.

"Business is slow and the bills are racking up." A half-lie. Demands came in from other places and Clayton would, regrettably, tell his customers they were out of their desired toppings since they went to Dante's specifications. He had to cut back on Dante's requests, and money, until his inventory balanced out. Surely he couldn't explain the real reason to the white-haired enigma; the look on his face was downright murderous.

When Dante turned to leave, Clayton wanted to give him his sincerest apologies, but he stood in fear when his customer's fist connected on top of a random sedan. The force of the hit dented the hood; the windows on the passenger side cracked into lines throughout the two windows. When he moved to walk away there was about a five-second layover until all the glass shattered, the car now expressing its loud, beeping alarm to alert the world of its injury.

Andy the delivery boy had boasted about the free hours he gained instead of waiting to deliver pizza to him. Dante chuckled in bitter annoyance; iceberg blues boring into the man's brown ones, lips stretching to produce a crazed, shit-eating grin. After that incident, Andy never said anything smart-mouthed again.

However, a $100 credit limit would be of no benefit to him; the nine pizzas were consumed within an average of four days. He should be grateful all the while, Clayton reserved the divine right to refuse his services and be bothered by Dante no more. Not that that could ever happen; he was Pizza One's best customer... if not their only.

"My appreciation always finds a way to blow back up in my face." The words came out in a mumbled sneer, tongue sticking hard into his cheek, angered at the lack of self-control to use his tab sparingly. And critical of those morons who didn't buy more pizza from the pizzeria.

The rain cascaded down in thick, slanted sheets, pounding his windshield in a relentless shower of bullet-like pellets. A final glance stole his thoughts in the rear view mirror, darkness consuming his vision as the night blanketed the township into a silent stillness. Lightning cracked the dark clouds, high-lighting the area in his vicinity to show a soulless landscape.

Dante narrowed his eyes in speculation, knowing the motives of these visitors aimed to unfold to expand their intentions to the highest level. A battle of critical importance would ensue; Dante wanting to avoid the collateral damage dealt to him after the ordeal finished in its entirety. But the inevitable he combated before, and similar to so many other events, he picked himself up and kept going forward in life after the turmoil ended.

But what about now? These guests only wanted to accompany the individual _back_ to their residential dwelling. Could it be so bad to let them take their visitant "home" with them, and spare the man of an unwanted regret?

This might be so much better with a hot pizza to aid in his thinking; frozen pizza from the store didn't do him justice.

Fifteen minutes later he stopped in front of his garage, hopping out the car to open it. In his absence, he put up a blood ward to prevent anything from intruding in his place. It forced him to up his protective measures prior to deciding what to do with his guest.

Concentrating a sliver of his demonic energy into his left hand lengthened his fingernails. The black nails on his fingers grew before using his forefinger to slice his right wrist, a small pool of blood leaking out.

"Dispenso adque cado,"[1] he muttered the Latin words in the dingy night. Dante smeared his red liquid across the magically invisible ward, hearing damned voices rise and cease immediately after the shield came down. He lifted his nose in the air to make sure Hell's creatures weren't around to sneak an attack.

Such a pain it was to do this, even more so that the car port didn't have an automatic handling. It would have made entering and leaving much more easier, instead of losing time to manually unlock the damn thing.

Sensing the area safe he got back in his ride and entered the parking space, closing the door soon after. The slit closed up before closing the garage, forcing him to re-cut the wound to enable the seal to erect.

"Percipio adque surgo," [2]he said the words in a strong voice, sweeping his bleeding wrist along a white, wall-like blockade appearing before him, encoded with varying demonic symbols. Hellish voices rose at his command, the barrier encasing the room in a brief burst of chalky light before the space returned to its normal setting.

Dante let the remnants of his devil power recoil deep within his body, shaking the last of it off while going to get the bag of groceries. How did it come to this he will never know, but his life took an abrupt turn, currently, for the worst.

He shouldn't have to use a heavy seal to protect his territory, the mere sight of him sent the weaker fodder running. He shouldn't have to put his duties on hold to care for one that _didn't_ care to return the favor. He shouldn't be limiting his daily needs to tend to the necessities of another. Why, oh why did the unexpected drop on him at the most inconvenient of openings?

He reached into the backseat for the groceries, closing the door with his foot before entering the doorway to his living room. The smell of rain and wet wood invaded his nostrils, wrapping around his being like a snug sweater. Eyes adjusted to the darkness, walking straight towards the kitchen to set the sack on the counter. A switch over the sink illuminated the space in a deep pale yellow, revealing a spotless area devoid of dirt, grime, and stale pizza boxes.

Dishes, the few he maintained, shone spiffy and clean on the dish rack. The trashcan contained a lemon-scented trash bag, free of unwanted debris spilling over and surrounding the can's base. The white stove shown the whitest its ever been since its purchase, grease stains and crumbs well wiped away to some forgotten end of a dumpster. He never thought his palms would touch another mop again; other than proposing to one when massively drunk or to take a hit, but for tidying purposes... from his own hands?

Dante grabbed the fruit bowl to place the purchased fruit in there. Below the counter, he grabbed a pot and placed it under the faucet, preparing for the nightly regime he accustomed to going on two weeks. This adjustment wouldn't even be sought after if a certain detrimental spectator didn't plop down into his life unexpectedly.

A couple of unknown habits frequented his daily routine, ranging from fixing light meals to cleaning. Cleaning as in taking a rag with unstaining agents and wiping off dust and soot in his loft. Normally, he would gripe and procrastinate to tidy up because it bored him. Now he occupied himself with distractions to stall himself from facing a hard truth.

A truth that took many rejected emotions to fight through to confront a grim reality. And in lieu of fighting through this reality, it doubled back to spit him right in his face; to taunt his efforts to move on ahead with his future.

Fate can be a cruel bitch.

The front burner lit up on the left side of the stove, placing the pot of water on the fire. He leaned against the counter, thinking about the turn of events in the past couple of weeks.

Why is it, he mused, that the dead could never stay that way? Was there some magic they used or his lack of efforts enabled the ill-beings to wander around after their expiration date?

Surely Lady and Trish handled the spawns of Hell, but did they let a few escape? If his services were employed the demons would, without a doubt, fall under his devastating blade.

Since he fell under lock down and needed to tend to certain matters before he resumed his hunting, first things first.

He reached up to the cabinet and pulled out a white mug, pouring the nearly boiling liquid into it. The box of tea he bought freed from its confinement, singling out a bag of the calming brew before dropping it in the cup. The last two packages of doughnut cakes in the cupboard opened and rested on a small black plate.

He walked outside the kitchenette where it housed the Brazilian walnut-furnished bar, filled with various liquors and wines of different tastes. They sat there to age in silent grace, calm and undisturbed from the mouths eager to complement a celebration. Once in a while he snuck a drink a few times, but the pure awesomeness of beer won his love.

Under the bar housed a few whiskeys and water bottles, Dante keeping the alcohol here to skip his indulges when harrowing problems arose. Beer he consumed and its effects couldn't pollute his mind until much later. But whiskey, whew, a few rounds from that and he'd be seeing stars.

As silly as it sounded, the bourbon's disappearance worked. He'd truly forgotten about its existence and he rarely ventured into one of his drunken stupors because of his forgetfulness. Too bad his drunk-free days would clock back down to zero upon re-discovering his hidden stash. He kept small quantities of water under the cabinet, just to add flavor to the whiskey should he need it.

Grabbing two waters he went to the kitchen, taking a never-used baking sheet and placing the mug and doughnut cakes on there. Putting the bottles under his arm he trudged up the stairs, steeling his nerves solid to face the dilemma plaguing his nights from a positive completion.

The knob opened to a dark room, brightened by a dim candle licking its last flames of light. In the middle lied a four poster bed; midnight blue satin sheets viewed black to the naked eye. Plush bedding accessories in the same hue and cream colors wove together to lure the invited straight in, trapping them in their soothing and warm embrace. Dark oak carved out embellished designs, tiny swirls adorning the wooden length surrounding the comfy cushions. Matching dressers mounted on either side, a sliver handle in the shape of an eagle's wing reflecting the yellow glow of the small torch.

Situated against the white wall stood a stand with various trinkets Dante kept under watch. These little items held a particular, sinister, corrupt magic to them. If fallen into the wrong hands, things... could get a bit unsettling for him, which may have been enjoyable if he wasn't under _unofficial_ house arrest.

He ventured further in, placing the baking sheet on the dresser to the right along with the two bottles. The soft beige carpet quieted his footfalls. Upon the stand he grabbed a taper, white blossom showing on the label before he lit it with a lighter.

The candle led to where the other one faded out of life, seeming to slow the burning wick to persevere against its imminent fate. However, fate won by Dante blowing a calm breath over the flame. The new blazing taper took its place, illuminating the niche with enough brilliance to rival a torch; truly so since a sliver of brightness from the outside world couldn't penetrate inside.

"Maybe that light is too bright," he mumbled to himself, debating on whether to dim it. "Or I should... man, just fuck it," he grumbled, seeing no need to make a fuss over trivial matters.

With the darkness of the clouds veiling the moon's luster and the blinds closed, it resembled a cave. A cave in which he remained invisibly shackled on a short leash, under the jurisdiction of the mysterious creature wanting to stay hidden and Dante hated it.

This evasive cretin resurfaced frustrated feelings having lain to rest some years previous; when courage and determination overrode the misery of reality. Emotions waged a war, clashing with his carefree demeanor and threatening to take away his persona, replacing his character with someone carrying a deep-seated grudge.

It took him a while to reign in the bouts with self-pity and blame, digging himself out of that chasm intimidating to keep him imprisoned on _two_ separate occasions. Each occurrence ripped a hole through his chest, piercing disheartened pins into his vascular organ, leaving him bitter and somber after the ordeal was over. Now this third event risked to do the same, back like a disease intent to reclaim the body and rot it beyond comprehension.

Dante turned to leave out the lodgings, glaring dismally at his inviting bed wishing to dive right in. He should have jumped in and rested his exhausted little noggin yet that luxury belonged to another, or rather, the cryptic creature lying in his spot.

The very object of his pain and suffering, loneliness and despair, hate and rage popped up in his heart, cold fingertips pushed to constrict the muscle. Damn it all if he would give in to a conforming pressure without his will, following in the lead of his pre-determined actions decided by someone else.

But he had to. He had to let those frozen fingers frost his heart to handle an inevitable situation. A cold heart was a temporary coping mechanism from facing the unknown truth when it showed itself.

Reason sprouted that having a frosted heart was better than diving into one from the result of pessimistic ways and means. In another saying, having feelings allowed the infliction of emotional wounds to run deep instead of having it blocked from receiving any.

Dante looked upon the form lying in his sheets, taking his black beanie off before running a hand through his hair. A grimace graced his mug as memories of a forgotten past resurfaced and poured into his mind. It overflowed with a grim fact that no matter what he did or why, he could never escape the elusive flesh known as his other half.

His twin brother. Vergil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: [1]Latin for "dispense and fall"
> 
> [2]Latin for "gain and rise"
> 
> Chapter 3, when put together, would have been 22 pages long, or at least that's how much I wrote (0_0), so I had to chop it. But I got the whole thing chopped into two so...
> 
> I'm sorry my Vergil fanatics! He wasn't exactly ready to come out (all the way) yet ya know; had to rehearse his lines and had to have his make-up perfect XD! But he will soon!


	4. Hiding in the Dark

_"Jezebel...Jezebel won't try to deny where she came from_

_You could see it in her pride_

_And the raven in her eyes_

_Try and show her a better way_

_She'll say, 'You don't know what you've been missing'_

_By the time she blinks, you know she won't be listening_

_'Reach for the top' she said 'And the sun is gonna shine'_

_'Every winter was a war' she said 'I want to get what's mine'"_

[_Jezebel_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y5ErvkbZ7GQ) by Sadè

* * *

Hiding in the Dark

Life is bitter to those with a history of struggles, and fate orchestrated the symphony of hardships. What drives the single body to escape this putrid show lies within sheer will and drive.

Fate stood on stage and directed which instruments accompanied the soundtrack to one's livelihood. But she can't force an individual to stay there and listen. If her performance is interrupted, she can notify the usher to sit the interrupter down or escort them outside. Yet the heckler still has the option to linger or leave when they deem it so.

The choices lie to remain seated and taunt the orchestrator or keep quiet; to depart in a ruckus or walk out in demure steps. She may pick out what section of devices to perform but the party can make their own sounds to dramatize for those sections waiting to have their turn. The tools are always varied, she just pre-picks the time to play while one makes the most of that instrument.

Maisha's chosen apparatus to play on this dreaded Saturday night lied between her thighs. In the back of her mind fate played the instrumental version of Sadé's Jezebel; the saxophone crying out the notes while the guitar whispered in the melody. She couldn't bear to listen to the direct tune, trying to mess up the show by inserting off-key drum beats and dark-piano keys, to no avail.

Oh yes, the orchestrator wanted to make her remember the harmony loud and clear, to offer the music to go along with her physical tryst. However, she clung to her decisions. She didn't have to hear the thoughts in her cerebral cavity. She can pull out of her mental chamber and soak in the present. Nevertheless, it wasn't better since she escaped to her psyche to block the current existence out.

She looked down at the closed eyelids and open mouth of Nathan Crosgrove, an unwed man of two children, whose lanky body swelled between her legs. "Oh yes," he said, breath coming in shorter and shorter bursts. "Oh yes..."

Maisha ignored him, shutting her eyes to withdraw into her made-up paradise, but realized she just retreated from there. Jezebel entered the last melodious part of her ballad.

She quickened her pace, sliding up and down on his slender length, supporting herself on her hands on either side of his face. Her nipples brushed against his chest, the electric touch sending him to climax. Clammy hands grabbed a solid hold over her buttocks, releasing himself into ecstasy, shuddering in violent spasms before lying still.

Her breasts slipped into her purple and red bandeau bra the instant he released her, covering her immodesty from the waist up. She swiftly moved off of him, picking up her discarded clothing and purse, making a quick dash to the bathroom.

In the small but clean space she turned on the light, setting her objects on the vanity, looking at herself in the mirror. She waited for the upsurge of emotions to feed off of her; first she felt empty, then lonelier than ever, and finally furiously angry.

The matron of the family drove her to be like this. To seek those who desired to come for her reminiscent of a little princess while she worked her 'Daddy knows best' line as reinforcement. Time and time again Maisha questioned issues about guidance, love, and relationships. When the topic got too heavy or the mother grew unsure of her answer, she resorted to that infamous phrase. Now as an adult, Maisha knew it wasn't a logical reply then, and it didn't hold up in the present.

The matriarch took the patriarch's advice in eternal recitation, always producing some good reason for doing so. Maisha wondered if this provided the mother's way of trying to avoid final responsibility for her actions. Obviously so; her inability to handle her own problems trickled down to burden onto Maisha's shoulders.

This hindrance carried on a cycle she envisioned to break away from. Proving to the mother, and to herself, that she was more than a meek doormat and follow in the matron's footsteps she would _not_.

The first relationship she had certified her envisioning as false. Her lover made her feel insecure and inadequate to his glib, verbal cruelty. But, that stood in the mannerisms of her teachings.

She was told that a woman is supposed to cater to a man; to cook, clean, pamper his mind and body, and to tend to his children. In return, his appreciation would show through romance. Yet... something seemed wrong about this equation. Where did the man being an ungrateful, domineering, adulterous tyrant in response to those tedious efforts come in at?

If that dwelled in the prospect of love, then why did the matron read large volumes of escapist, romantic literature to ignore his vindictive ways? Why did she appear inconspicuous and demure when out in public with him? Why did she not stand up to the patriarch when his bullying actions saddened her? Only someone agreeing to appease the oppressive dogmatics willed this lifestyle to continue.

Luckily, Maisha held fast to her courage and strength, at sixteen, to leave her boyfriend before he took control of her soul. However, after this one life-experiencing meeting, subsequent to the things the matriarch said to her about courtships, after seeing the way the father treated the mother, this is what love is? Full of heartache and hurt because your significant other handled you as a commodity rather than a human? If so, then the romantically inept can hold on to these immoral values while she sought other, believable means of a relationship.

Withal, she wouldn't resent being the modern housewife, taking care of the home while the hubby left his mark in the workplace. As long as the husband treated her as his equal; to have a rational, loving and trusting relationship of each other's virtues _and_ faults.

Why couldn't the matron look past those harmful acts of the patriarch and see herself deserving so much better? Before she found the chance to search for Prince Realistic, she had to keep chugging on in life. Or return to the setting she presently attended and make the most of it.

Blinking out her reverie she dug into her purse and pulled out a feminine toilette packet, utilizing the wet napkin to clean her lower extremities, yanking out the sticky, female condom in reminded disgust. She finished dressing herself, the thigh-high purple, one-shouldered dress fitting tight over her form. Her hands flowed through her tresses, untwisting the barely sweaty locks from their entanglement.

A quick spritz of passion fruit and burnt orange citrus refreshed the original scent she carried. The woman looked in the mirror to nod at herself prior to closing the night. She wrapped the used supplies in toilet tissue and stuffed it in her purse, leaving the bathroom to find Mr. Crosgrove... still lying in the same position on the bed.

This was a mistake. She met him about a month ago sitting on a bar stool at Pheasantry Bar 'N' Grille. There, he went on and on about how his father was an antiques dealer and his lackluster childhood; discussing his worries about how he felt trapped in an unhappy relationship and how having children ruined his life. He expressed his boring job as a lab technician and his even more irritating co-workers.

Nearly two hours later she realized that Nathan wasn't a brooding and sensitive man, but a crashing bore. In spite of talking, she skipped her sob story and headed straight to the point. She voiced her need to gain financial stability to not move back with those "adults" she called her parents. And like any sex-less sap who feigned interest for her reasons, he accepted her offer in eager haste. Though having empathy to her plight.

Maisha didn't want to think of herself as a tart. Sleeping with men because they didn't value their relationships or for her pleasure; not for one-night stands or to be a home wrecker. She did this strictly for _survival_. Making $9.25/hr. wasn't keeping her afloat in the finances department, and she supported her determination to make a living for herself separate from what the mother envisioned. And she insisted on achieving this lifestyle by any means necessary.

Perhaps by romanticizing her actions, she kept herself from resorting to self-inflicting means to escape the life she'd been forced to lead. And to refrain from labeling herself the "P" word because that's what her deeds spoke, regardless of the way she looked at it.

The arrangement they mutually agreed upon existed as a half-now-and-later scenario. First half of monetary sustenance fell into her hands before the physical "connection" and when the deal completed in full, she gained the rest of her payment.

The sooner he gathered himself to, the quicker she could abandon this scene in the cobwebs of forgotten stories. Treating this deplorable situation as an anonymous event enabled her to cope with the after effects, like... straying away from any mixed feelings the other party might develop.

"Can't go to sleep yet, cowboy." Maisha crooned the words in a firm voice, letting him know his end of the bargain needed to be upheld.

A few deep breaths exhaled from his person, opening hazel eyes to sparkle in lustful hunger in the sheen of moonlight. The bed in which he lied in almost swamped the lithe man, making his tanned skin appear pale in the black bedding.

Nathan rested as naked as the day he entered this world, exposed in full for her sight to gaze at, which wasn't that impressive to view. But beggars can't be choosers so he can go outside in his birthday suit for all she gave a damn.

In light of giving him another stern warning, that _limp_ impersonation hardened the longer he looked at her, intending for round two to be well underway.

 _Might want to make an appointment with your right hand buddy_!

She wanted to avoid this, only doing what she needed to do and then move on past this. Unknown as to whether he coupled with his significant other, but she would not replace her in that department even if he promised to pay all her bills.

Her hand lifted to the birthmarks on her neck, veering towards repulsion when his tongue sampled her there. An indescribable tingling rushed throughout her structure when he did so, slowly awakening her senses to tune into her surroundings. It reacted as if something shot into her body and dumped a day's worth of energy into her, invigorating her like she woke up from the best sleep in her life.

Yet... she can't feel this refreshed from being with this man. It never occurred before, so what purpose did it hold now? Nathan continued gazing at her, his lackluster length engorged to continue receiving her pleasuring gifts.

Maisha choked on an uncomfortable swallow.

"That was an interesting adventure-" she started, trying to let him down easy but eager to leave. "-but I gotta get going; early day tomorrow." When she saw his idle movement, she took it upon herself to make the point clear by slipping on her strappy black heels.

Shortly after, she heard the springs on the bed moving, hearing clothes rustle and mumbled sighs of disappointment. Feelings of attachment she wouldn't allow him to initiate, emotional complications overshadowed logical thought.

"Do you really need to go?" his forlorn tone stretched to sway her, hoping to continue their fun but she was beyond the point of entertaining. "I mean, we-we won't be bothered by anyone-" he came to her with $150 in his hands, basketball shorts sagging loose on his hips. "-or... or I could come to your place."

 _The nerve of this loser_! "I know, but I have a busy day and I can't afford to be late." Maisha voiced her words in a sweet yet firm tone, taking the money after she put on her black, leather jacket.

"Well how-how e-early do you have to be where-"

"Six. In the morning." Maisha pocketed the bills in her purse, seeing the warning signs of an unsatisfied, needy man pushing to want more than what she offered. The agreement settled in full, and a new one will not be "verbally" written until much later, if at all.

"Well, I should get going."

In her mind she started to give him a hug or a kiss, in spite of wanting him to realize a sensitive relationship would not form out of this. Hell, she didn't know if they might ever meet again, not that she wanted to. But she didn't want any connected strings linking them together.

With a final nod and a sweet smile shadowing her tormented feelings, she headed out of his townhouse, intending on heading home and washing away the remnants of this meaningless transaction. Her brain urged her to sulk in a hot tub until she felt better about herself. Sometimes falling into a void took her judgment off of everything. And depending on what happened or what she went through, it helped.

"But hey, is there like... a number I could call you with?"

 _Aw, shit, here we go_. "I do, but it's something not many people have."

"Why? Are you hiding from an ex or any stalkers?"

 _Yup, this was a mistake._ _Should've sweet-talked Mark a little more before ridding of him too._

"No." She clacked her heels across the walkway leading to the outside gate, wanting to tell Nathan to fuck off because it wasn't anything to concern himself with. After all, she didn't ask why he felt bitter towards his baby mama or his disgust with his children. He poured that information out on his own.

"I just have to know you really well to see you as a friend."

The only contacts in her phone contained the names of Halima Raymond, Mark McJensen, Pizza One, Matthew Greene, and her landlord, Derrick Grylls. Nathan's number rested on a piece of paper in her purse where it inclined to stay until she threw it away in the trash. First sign of someone pining for more intimacy she shut them off. A partnership she didn't want right now and definitely not with him.

"So what do I need to do to gain your number and be your friend?" They made it to the gate, exiting out the iron-casted door to the sidewalk where her truck parked some yards down the street. The leather hugged her torso, the frigid, cloudy temperature snapping the warmth away from her being.

Nathan may have severe frostbite when he went back in his home. Speaking of which, why wasn't he there already? Then again, she remembered that thought about him going outside naked and not caring...

"Hey, how 'bout I treat you to lunch tomorrow? We could meet up after you're done with your day. You sure you don't want me to call you?"

He jumped in front of her, shirtless and fervent to try anything to be with her. He hadn't a care about his responsibility to his family, and where his duties ended with them, it _wasn't_ going to be picked up by her.

 _Dammit, can't he take the hint_! "Um, I'll have to see," she maneuvered around him to continue on her route, looking behind once to throw him a fake wink, "I will be busy so―ooh it's cold!"

A harsh gust of wind blew at her, whipping against her legs with biting ferocity. She stopped until the chill lessened enough to walk again. The woman turned to tell him to head on inside... and choked on a breath.

Standing behind her Nathan stood covered in complete ice, his right arm outstretched to her, his eyeballs bulging in horror. Icicles hung from his body, little drops of snowflakes adorning the tiny crevices visible on his form.

She retreated two steps, eyes wide in fright; the man she just committed relations with represented the contour of a human ice sculpture. Oh, why he didn't go home! Her mind forced out the thought but her heart spoke in a different manner; one that said Mr. Crosgrove will never live to see the things he took for granted again.

A high-pitched, primal scream let out deep within the confines of her throat, hands covering her mouth after a light breeze tilted Nathan's statue backwards, breaking into a thousand pieces of small red chunks when it hit the ground.

The scene reminded her of that _Terminator 2_ movie when the bad cop fell into a geyser of liquid nitrogen and shattered when plowed by a bullet. Only Nathan wasn't pierced by the Terminator, but by the monstrosity creeping out of the shadows.

Peeking through the cracks between the clouds the Lunar crescent high-lighted a fiendish creature to her left, large obsidian eyes glittering in ominous hatred. It crouched low to the ground, a pair of webbed hands and feet supporting its weight. Its spine protruded to stretch against its hide; clearly showing the spinal cord and able to count its vertebrae. Sharp, jagged teeth faded away into darkness; the hazy air seeming to veil the monster in its complete silhouette.

Slivers of moonlight revealed and shaded the beast coming towards her, stringy blue hair sticking out against cloud-white skin. Subtle the skin tone may be, it complemented the dark blues and gray hues of the night, blending in with the dimness until ready to expose itself.

Saliva pooled out the corner of its mouth, crystallizing into an icicle when it contacted the cement. Its claws formed a 'tinking' sound when it connected on the terrain, leaving small particles of ice in its wake.

Faster than her mind told her what to do, she turned and started sprinting in her heels, grabbing the keys out her purse to chirp the alarm. Halfway to her car she ran out into the middle of the street, hoping to see someone driving her way to help her. Somewhere along the throes of her panicked thinking, something sharp and frigid grabbed a hold of her left ankle. Weightlessness consumed her prior to rolling in hard tumbles on the ground.

Stabbing volts of spasms pierced her legs and arms, warning her physique to stay still until the throbs decreased but she chose not to listen. The fear fueling her insides kept her moving, in pitiful jerks, across the ground before she resumed her escape plan. A cold, tight grasp enclosed around her foot, scraping her patellas and limbs until it flipped her onto her back.

In full view of the monster, she noticed large nostrils scrunching and twitching to inhale in strength, eyes briefly turning white before flashing to those soulless, raven-colored orbs. It snorted out icicles from its nose, capturing both of her hands as it got on top of her, thighs pressing into her stomach.

"Oh no... no, no, no!" Maisha let out blood-curdling screams, squirming onto her side to push against the force holding her captive. "HELP ME!" she shrieked the cries louder and louder, stamina growing weaker with the monster pressing its knees harder into her mid-section.

To drown out her pleas the beast screamed at her, echoes bouncing out like a goat being branded with a casting iron. With tight eyes closed and wet streams pooling out her tear ducts she sobbed, expecting those claws to shred into her flesh at any moment.

Broken exhales of fright escaped her mouth, shuddering shakily, feeling the beast's cool breath on her face. She squeezed into the paved road, bones groaning in protest from their already abused state.

The snarls it emitted pitched a high echo in her ears, drowning out any sounds her hearing authorized to sense. Alas, she still picked up vibrations beneath her, nerves tuning in to the pulsing reverberations aside from the physical weight pushing on top of her.

Was the ground cracking underneath her? Did this monstrosity intend to take her back to its dwelling deep underground, or even way _down_ there due to its Hellish nature? Or perhaps this guy escaped a mental ward; might explain his eccentric appearance.

She resumed her futile struggling, muscles aching since the thing almost evaporated her strength to the point of unconsciousness, rendering her to lie motionless after her little outburst of energy. The trembling gravel continued to shake her, growing in volume and intensity as her hearing returned to her.

Vaguely it sounded like a motor approaching, headed straight in her direction. Oh, she had to be saved, anyone with vision can witness that something was amiss right in the middle of the street.

"AAAHEEE!" The indigo-haired fiend inhumanely shrieked in agony from tiny little pellets piercing into its flesh, Maisha screaming after the whizzing projectiles scuttled too close to her face.

Screeching tires and missing lights belonging to a rumbling engine appeared, uncovering the nightfall blanketing the area in dark blue saturation. She no longer felt the heavy weight holding her captive, free to move her limbs away from that Hellish menace. Her frame moved too quick, absconds of pangs ebbing in her stilts, her busted kneecaps prevented her from mobility.

The ringing dissipated from within her ears, a voice calling out to her above the indescribable sound of the foe's warped cry. Her elbows lifted to support her upper mass, yelping out in discomfort a moment later because of her frost bitten hands. She shifted her attention to her palms that were harder than a block of ice, turquoise-tipped at the fingertips and swollen.

The beast must have somehow made her forget her physical pain; too engrossed with its frightening appearance to sense her injuries.

It felt like a thousand tiny needles pricked and prodded her palms, intensifying in sync with the plasma flowing into her iced fingertips. Her shoulders ached from the volatile tumble and their once imprisoned captivity, knowing that ugly bruises would show up to mar her skin.

Her heart pumped in furious pace to keep up with her panicked state, nearly imploding when a fresh batch of adrenaline sunk into her bloodstream; the result of the white-skinned fiend attempting another grab at her.

More bullets passed by her, accompanied by feet running up to help her. A hand grabbed her left arm and threw it over a broad shoulder, intending on lifting her. The thought relaxed her mind that a policeman arrived, but the pain she exerted when moved from her planked position gave way to the adrenaline weakening.

Before she could tell her savior his rescuing methods prevailed a welcomed but bad idea, he hoisted her to stand, Maisha shouting out in torment. Her legs collapsed; the straightening of her stems measuring like dead weight and the bending of her bloody knees snapping from suffering hurt. Her ribs grated against her protector, irritating the abrasions forming there. Her battered arms helped out none; her aching, rimed hands stinging in magnitude with the frost eating away any movement within them.

That monster had done a bang-up job of immobilizing her.

"Hey, are you all right?" The man half-held her as she sagged back to the ground, searing-hot aches gaining in strength. The cold tore through her skin. "Can you walk?" his voice sounded urgent, fingers dragging in light touches around points of injury, seeing how to grab her without hurting her too much.

There goes that familiarity again.

Maisha looked up at her rescuer, electric blue eyes staring down at her with needy concern. A patch of dark clouds parted to reveal luminescent light; the sheen shining on white hair to bathe it in a silver gloss. So familiar he seemed yet unknown to the place where she'd seen him from.

Just beyond him she saw a car with a metal grille, red paint boldly showing in the...

_Hey... it's... that guy... he, he... Dan-Dan..._

"Dan-Daniel?" Wasn't that it? Isn't his name Daniel; the man who rested some quarters short at the grocery store on Friday?

His eyebrows rose a little, replacing his surprised visage with a stern face. He scanned the area, eyes setting on the thing that originally pinned her. "Close enough," he muttered more to himself, stooping down to hook an arm under her knees and rib cage. "Sorry darling, but you gotta move."

In one swift motion he carried her in his arms, avoiding her groan-induced holler at the misery he caused by moving her without warning. He rushed her over to the driver's side of his car, gently dropping her in the driver's seat.

Blood splattered across the windshield, her protector shielding his arm from her attacker, closing the door with his free hand before rearing back and punching the fiend away from him. Her fists equaled to that of a block of ice, digits chilled from their regular intervals of movement.

Violent shudders wracked through her frame, hugging herself to insert warmth back into her body. She wanted to turn on the heater in his ride but hesitated; not knowing which button to push or if he even felt comfortable with people touching his stuff. Especially when she almost flavored his car in pepper spray earlier.

Maisha glanced upon the window, waves of cold water crept into her veins and froze them a moment later. From what she could see the two enigmas tore at each other, slugs from a firearm aiming and shooting at the sly-moving creature.

 _So he carried a weapon_. She felt safe after that notion, but where did he come from? Did he happen to be in the neighborhood and heard her screams, rushing to the scene of action? And what gall did this "Daniel" have to just bravely attack this escaped mental patient? Yet she lived to be no fool.

Humans don't crawl around on all fours nor do they have black, sharpened fingernails. Humans are not genetically that _white_ of a skin tone, with eyes as dark and endless as a bottomless pit. They don't turn people to ice on a whisper of a breath and they don't talk with the voice of an animal.

What else commanded this abomination of a specimen to be, her mind pondered as the chill appeared to worsen, hunching over to retain warmth. Words from her customer flooded back to her memory; of how he dealt with fiends of the 'unholy' sort and of his prevention of murdered women.

But there was no such thing as supernatural occurrences and even if there came close to one, it always suggested a rigged or manipulated segment for others to believe. That was what the elders said, that's what her doctors said, and that's what the general populace held true... according to their judgments, or lack thereof.

In her experience, she imagined she saw demonic faces and ghostly apparitions before her. She assumed that they tried talking to her in the darkness of her room. She fancied the figures of desolate souls trying to reach out to her, in a desperate plea to escape from whatever torment they underwent.

Unfortunately for Maisha, her imagination was an actual reality.

Images of the damned appeared in front of her, ingrained forever into her mind as a youth. And now it seemed that certain hauntings of a long forgotten past returned to show her she cannot run from her memories, no matter how hard she wishes it away or ignores it with mind-altering pills. If she made an effort to manipulate her thoughts towards denial then physical evidence, that she could not ignore, turned up in her presence.

She harkened to yell to her rescuer to retreat, to cut the brave act and to call for backup, if he was an officer. He didn't have to get himself killed for her, it wasn't worth it. One blow from the monster's breath and his existence would stop. She wanted nothing to happen to him, not after the death Nathan just endured.

 _Nathan, I'm so sorry_.

Her heart curled in on itself, sorrow filling up the vascular organ, her suitor met his end at the hands of a monster pursuing _her_. How was this going to be explained to the police; to his family? Bile rose up in her throat, threatening to splatter over her legs at the mere mention of what played out earlier.

She knew that tough times were ahead, recollections of dark secrets wanting to be forgotten would resurface; adamant to reinforce her beliefs of what she wanted to stay false and coming into light as the truth. She had to relocate from the town she lived previously to will away the bad reminders left marred into her soul.

Maisha reasoned with herself that by starting life anew insisted on erasing her past, yet the damned part of it followed her as a constant reminder of who she is and what she came from. A life reeking from misery and loneliness.

 _Oh Masozi, why did you leave me in such a desperate time_...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And the secrets just keep tumbling out on you my poor Maisha. Aw, your life will sort out...so much later in the story. :0
> 
> A quick shout out to my beta for looking over some things for me since my brain wants to focus on my cold rather than my thoughts.
> 
> P.S. In case you want to know what the “P” word is, it means prostitute 0_0


	5. Secluded Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story Tidbits:  
> Interlopes with Chapter 4, mostly Dante's POV  
> Enemy name: Barafu- means ice in Swahili  
> Stats: Beta-Lohce Azcry. 20 pages hand-written/14 pages typed.  
> Final Word: Read on to dream on...

"Please?"

" _No_."

"Please?"

" _No_."

"Please?"

" _No_!"

"Aw, why not?"

"Because a shitload of jobs came your way and you passed them up. Hell, even I begged you to take them on but you refused!" An angry female voice yelled out to her visitor, offended that he worked up the nerve to ask her for money when he let it walk away from him.

"I already told you why I couldn't, _Lady_."

"And that was a shitty ass excuse, _Dante_."

"It'll be for a few days, then I'll repay you."

"You? Pay? Since when!"

"C'mon Lady!" Dante, the shameless creature he morphed into, temporarily resorted to his old ways to sustain himself and that thing he called a brother. If Vergil wasn't under his care, then the devil hunter would be able to last a few days on his lonesome, but circumstances presenting...

"Dante, I have two jobs lined up, even though they're minor─"

"It's a hundred bucks! What's the big deal?" The new enemy species allowed him to vacate his premises for twenty minutes or shorter, never knowing if one of those goons would break in. This reason persisted good enough of a lie to keep Lady naive. But she may figure out his secret of hiding his elder brother; his supposed-to-be-dead elder brother.

"C'mon, this is the smallest amount I've ever asked you for."

Talking to Lady's bedroom door edged him no closer to his goal, she had yet to open it since his arrival. He inclined to kick it down and demand an answer from her, but he didn't want to surprise her if she dressed herself. It would be a delectable treat to see nonetheless, but he needed to persuade her to provide him with monetary sustenance while in a calm mood.

"Dante, either you take these jobs with a guaranteed notion that you'll carry some spare change in your pocket, or you can wait until you're ready."

Son of a bitch. Why is she being so difficult?

"$75?"

Silence greeted him, the sound of a ticking clock resounded in his immediate vicinity. Outside her home the wind blew harsh gusts, the blowing air creating the chatter-like tweetings of children talking. Through the eerie harmony a barely audible 'hmm' met his ears, Dante taking it as a means to negotiate... at a much lower price.

"$65?"

"Mmmm..."

 _Aw come on_!

"$60?"

"Well..."

 _Oh she's playing me now_.

"...$55?"

"That's..."

Dante leaned his forehead against the door, wondering how he became this pitiful, dependent fool begging someone to loan him money. In the past, he would have asked to borrow without a second thought as to how or when he might repay her. But he had to guard his secret of Vergil staying on the surface plane.

He _meant_ to contact Lady and listen to her insight, after she calmed down from her rage, to see what provided the best course of action to benefit their livelihood. Though given the history shared between Lady's father, Arkham, and Vergil, he foreshadowed her negative answer.

He sighed, rubbing an eye in thought, sensing one problem topple on top of another. The secret will intensify in magnitude, knowing the issue can dissolve by telling his coworker─or just letting Vergil's neighbors take him back home.

The last encounter the twins shared happened on that Medieval-styled Mallet Island years ago, where their mother's killer reigned supreme and Vergil, in so many words, was Mundus's bitch.

The devil king brainwashed Vergil into this recessive, demonic robot that had no willpower of its own except of its master's. However, clutching to the obstinate qualities that inhabited the elder twin's unique abilities, he still retained his capability to feel.

When Dante battled in opposition to his twin, then Nelo Angelo, the necklace his mother gave him would slide out between the confines of his vest. Nelo Angelo gazed upon the ornament with focused intent and in that moment, the dormant brother broke through his instillation and remembered what forced him to ride this route in life.

Can he personify the actions of a cold-hearted bastard and let his only surviving kin go?

"$50."

He leaned his forearm against the door, allowing an ocean full of questions plague his mind, deciding on which answers ordained to drought the plethora of queries.

Tender footsteps shuffled on soft carpet behind the door, retreating footfalls receding from his hearing until they returned. A light grunt sounded out before Dante's eyes trailed to the floor, the requested monetary bill sliding under the threshold. He reached down to pick up the note, muscles twitching around his mouth to make him smile. Yet the heavy situation concerning his older sibling prevented the upturned lips. And furthermore, he needed more money.

"Hey Lady?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I borrow 50 bucks?"

"What the hell?!"

The knob on a doorway turned, a white door swinging open to reveal a 5'8 pale woman wrapped in a dusky green, thigh high robe. A matching towel encased her hair, droplets of water kissed her skin in gentle drops. Little sprinkles showed prominent on her left leg, but the right one dripped heavy with the clear liquid. The succulent scent of peaches and vanilla rose with the steam coming off of her in thick waves.

In the stillness of the night the fragrant clouds swirled to his nose, smothering his senses to lose focus of his question. In spite of her aroma, those bi-colored eyes _dared_ him to say something perverted.

The half-human hadn't gotten laid in at least three months. He knew it hardly required an emergency, but the mixing of increased demons, Vergil's return, and the new variety of Hell-spawn made him fidgety.

With the natural nature of a horny human and the insatiable sex drive of a demon left him with needs that needed to be met on a regular basis. He'd like to think he captured a hold of these urges, but he often slipped off his routine and into someone.

And Lady─in that clingy robe sticking to her still-wet body created sensual images to feast on.

His tactical fixation led to a light tinting of her cheeks. She excelled in staring down any man, sending their eyes headed in the other direction, but Dante was different. Any normal chit-chat between the two provided loose eye contact she felt fine with, yet when he pointedly zoned in on her she couldn't help the notion of him looking into her soul. It was as if he moved to push past her exterior to see what emotions lied within her spirit.

All though the flimsy material of her robe left little to the imagination...

"I just gave you 50 bucks."

"It's not enough─"

"Not enough for what?"

Now she took her turn to glimpse at him─in rare form. A red, gray and white plaid shirt molded to his torso, a black tank top peeked out from underneath the cottony fabric. Dark blue jeans rested long and fitting on his legs while casual black boots nestled comfortably on his feet. She remembered seeing this top... about a year and a half ago when she bought it for him─and those jeans.

When they lucked out on an "off day", as uncommon of its significance, Dante would parade around his house in sweatpants... and not much else. She took it upon herself to buy him clothes to laze in after she satiated her shopping needs. He damn near loathed to go shopping for casual wear, so numerous articles of clothing he had in his closet came from her.

He leaned his weight against her door frame, scratching his brow bone in contemplation of telling her about Vergil. Without question she would storm over there and finish him herself, asking questions later as to his residence there. Then he thought to confess to her that Vergil has been spotted somewhere on the outskirts of the city. Or even say that a changeling is channeling him. It might give him enough time to determine Vergil's fate... if he's up to the task.

"Don't tell me it's for your dumb pizza tab."

He smirked but the feeling didn't reach his eyes. Something troubled him she noted, given the faraway look he sported.

"I hope it's not to pay for a cheap date," she rolled her eyes skyward to punctuate her point. Lady naturally admitted to the idea, seeing no other reason for him to be dressed so... nicely. Well, other than the decreasing demonic numbers to let him lounge in regular clothes.

When he shook his head again her ebony eyebrow shot up into the towel, speculations coming up blank for him borrowing money without taking a job. Some form of foul play leapt afoot.

"Dante... what's going on?" Lady crossed her arms, seeing those iceberg blues dart down, without shame, to rest on her bosom. A dissatisfied grunt passed through her lips, redirecting his attention to the subject─and away from her breasts. The robe covered her front in full, yet it felt like he undressed her with his stare. "I mean it, what's wrong?"

She saw his eyelids close, taking in a deep breath as if he came to a decision. Hopefully, he would come clean about whatever obstacle troubled him. When he widened his milky orbs they seemed to have a brighter sparkle than when she first opened the door, a broader grin coming into focus.

Lady's curiosity leapfrogged over the tolerant nature she settled into, adamant to get to the bottom of Dante's worries prior to it becoming hers.

Indicating a limitation to infiltrate the root of his woes, that aloof mask slipped into place. The one where it veiled concerns and uncertainties, troubles and anxieties behind pulled-back lips, white teeth and warm eyes. Granted, he was the same way around pizza, beer, women and the chew toys of Hell, but this disguise pushed all his "negative" emotions inside this box until it ruptured with a vengeance.

"Ah, nothing to worry your wet head over," he oozed out the words in that smooth voice denoted to sway any woman to his advances. He honed his gaze on her, lowering his eyes as one side of his mouth rose up a little higher than the other. "Though you might want to finish toweling off before you catch a cold."

Lady did not find amusement in his carefree persona. She noticed when he hid information from her.

"You're lying."

"Like I said, it's nothing."

"Damn it, Dante-"

"You know how I feel about unwanted company lurking in my territory." A partial-lie. New devils and demons invaded his region, some even straying too close to his front door and it made him wary, more so irritated, to increase his extermination methods. Given any other day he'd be delighted to playfully torture them, but the existence of his brother's livelihood stole away any enjoyment from the fight.

"And why is this supposed-"

"Supposed?" he asked her with a scoff.

"-batch of devils still keeping you locked inside your office?"

"They love to play hide-and-seek. They hide in the shadows and they seek out my treasures when they think I'm... not there." Son of a bitch. Speaking of which, he needed to get back home.

She took caution of the pause as the weight of his words settled in on him, tongue sticking in the side of his left cheek in reflection.

"Sounds like you're slipping," she pushed a little harder to see if he exerted to spill anything, "to let some oogie boogies boss you around."

 _More than you know_.

"Oogie boogies don't have a say in how I move." The cracked mask slid into place, appearing as undaunted and cocky as ever.

"Oh yeah? So what does?"

"You do, babe."

Ugh, she hated that word. That may be his little endearing term towards her and Trish, but he called his temporary escorts that too.

"Very funny. It can never be simple with you. You always manage-"

"Just trust me okay?" A punctuated edge laced his voice, teetering on annoyance when he knew his she-partners were in the right, and they egged it on like a broken record. "It'll pass. These trespassing assholes will blow over soon. No big whoop."

He couldn't tell her. Not yet. Her strong disposition would crumble at the mere mentioning of his brother's name, then harden to a driven resolve to see his twin good and dead. He knew her to be an honest woman, way under that sometimes bitter, toughened outer shell, and he owed her the truth. Telling her prior to what he himself felt about the situation, fully, left potent suspicions in its wake.

Did his twin still pursue the senseless crusade to acquaint himself with power? And even if Vergil chose to go down this route, with Dante being a heavy roadblock, the younger hybrid remained fearless that his brother will never receive the chance to allow another Gate to open to the Underworld, period.

Oh yeah, eleven of those bucks will shoot towards a pizza to sort some shit out.

He flashed her a reassuring wink, stealing a quick peek at her gorgeous gams, moving to leave.

"Wait."

"Hm," he stopped his movements, tilting his head to the right to tune into her words.

"If something's wrong, no matter how big or small... you'll tell me about it, right?"

That voice of hers─that sweetly stubborn tone that twisted focused intent with emotional fervor, pleaded with him to let her know of his troubled misgivings. Yet his instincts told him that the burden, while his elder twin affected Lady, Trish, and Nero (Yamato really), lied on his shoulders. In the end, it settled with him to determine everyone's stance on Vergil's existence.

With his mouth formed into a thin line he turned his head to look forward, resoluteness forming in his being to solve this dilemma before it went to shit.

"Yeah." _Maybe I won't even have to explain_.

He answered her without a hint of emotion, walking down the hallway to leave out the front door. She tip-toed to the entryway, peeking into the hall to spot him rake a hand through his locks before he descended the steps, hands shoved deep into his pockets in reasoning. Perhaps she should take a swing by the office and see what's bothering him.

She hasn't met any new types of sulfur-suckers in a minute, however he said they congregated near his home. So were they confined to that area? But what drew them to mingle in that location?

Nothing bothered the guy and if something did, he shrugged it off with nonchalant grace. Inasmuch, _this_ something made Dante choose his evasive words, cluing her in on what he thought she needed to remember and dismissing her when she tried to probe. On average, it was the other way around, letting Dante ask questions and filling him on a need-to-know basis.

Lady heard him lock the bottom latch and close the door, indicating the exiting of her premises. She turned back around to finish toweling off, mind anticipating on when and where reposed the right time to sneak up on him. To find out what has him so secretive.

Dante could play her a fool all he wanted to, but it's going to take more than a false grin and ill-placed winks to pull one over on her. Just the same, Dante's a sneaky little bastard, discovering creative ways to keep her waiting on the truth. Yet he didn't uphold the measure of trickery up for long. Whether it was playing cards, shooting pool, or expenses gained from a job, he can't guard that invincible aura from her finding out his tricks.

She slid on a black t-shirt and matching underwear, slipping under her warm blankets to ponder Dante's game plan. No doubt she would voyage a trip to his residence and scope out the area herself, seeing the cause of Dante's sudden need to heed caution.

With that notion, she allowed the wind to breathe delicate whispers outside her window. The sound drove her off into a pleasant slumber, failing to banish the memory of Dante's muscular form wearing the clothes so well.

* * *

The boulevards occupied intimacy with the silence of the night, as it should be, but it made him yearn to walk on its sidewalks again. A few times he ventured outside did he take in the modified atmosphere beyond his four walls.

It felt refreshing to ride down the streets of his town. The sounds of the wind beat against random surfaces and his engine purred a gentle hum. Dante observed his changing environment. Whether the change provided a good thing still had to be decided.

Contemporary. The music. The restaurants. The people. All of it gravitated towards evolving with time. Old markets transformed into coffee houses. Fabric outlets changed into restaurant chains. Pawn shops morphed into little hang-out spots for teenagers, lounging around before they trotted off to commit lustful acts. Some of the adolescents doing the deed right behind the building.

Then again, this modernization took place mostly in the downtown district, where businesses and extravagant homes reigned supreme. Perhaps coming here reminded him of fleeting time and his own mortality.

Being of human and demon heritage allowed him to see the world reform thanks to his extended lifespan. Well, when he leapt far enough away from his neck of the woods did he witness the inconstant habitat. The neighborhood he never knew he lived in for so long was continents apart from what he recognized.

Except his block; he didn't know why no one wanted to give his area a quick paint-job. Hell, a simple touch-up would have sufficed plenty. Is it because many city-dwellers considered his territory a _myth_? Did rumors of rotten-fleshed skeletons carrying scythes and humanoid individuals with soulless eyes tearing citizens to shreds create these wild superstitions?

Well, while true and all, they can at least renovate a building. Maybe set a plant on a windowsill?

On the few days that things got too irksome for him to be around or to get out, he enjoyed a small stroll through his town. His section of city wasn't... run-down, just abandoned. After the rising of the ancient demonic tower Temen-Ni-Gru (selfishly conjured up by the elder twin) a few miles from his house, people either disappeared or left in boatloads; the damned escapees terrorizing and diminishing the population.

Heading northeast from the fortress lied the worst part of the district; where humanity gave up on morals and ethics. Drug addicts, murderers, sex offenders, pedophiles, con-artists... that deserted region housed the scum of human beings. In natural fashion, the unholy race lingered about the area, as if shielding the immoral-lived to socialize and breed as they saw fit. He understood if people stayed away from that place, and they did, but his dominion wasn't so bad.

"Everyone's got a warped view of what they should stay away from," he chuckled with a bitter scoff, making a convoy of rapid rights and lefts to take shortcuts home.

His passing adventures brought about a change in scenery, switching from clean businesses and manicured lawns to paint-chipped establishments and weed-sown fields.

As of late, his familiar surroundings encouraged a loss of comfort. Not completely due to Vergil's reappearance, but his withholding of information from the key players in this game. When the girls came around an oppressive air hung thick above them; he couldn't slip anything past them for long.

Deciding to turn on music to drown out his musings he passed by a street, hearing the roar of someone screaming into the evening. He slammed on the brakes in rough swiftness, turning off the radio to listen in on the timbre. Looking out the passenger window, he made out a small moving figure far off in the distance.

Movements shook back and forth on the ground, trying to get up from its fall. A possible victim of naivety, thinking all would be well and safe to go out at night?

Seeing no harm in taking a small detour to investigate the disturbance, he reversed the car and made a right. Driving down the road a peculiar sight focused into view, making him squint to extend his eyesight past the range of headlights on his machine.

A brief note of alarm settled in his being, realizing that that was no person whom lied in the street, but some ill-born fiend that fell on top of some poor soul; a woman judging by the high-octaves of screaming in her voice. Men don't scream like that─at least not that strong of a pitch when frightened... often.

"Going out for a late-night stroll won't be any good for ya, lady." Dante withdrew Ebony from the secret hideout in his pants, turning off the car's lights for a semi-sneak attack. The driver's glass avoided a fatal crack just in time for him to aim the reticle at the creature's skull. Leaning out the window the brute and the detainee came closer into focus, the devil hunter observing bright red-orange hair in heavy, soft waves on one side.

 _Wait, it can't be_.

Before he recalled her name in his memory his trigger finger launched a barrage of bullets in a straight line, six slugs hitting the monster all over its chest since it moved its direction to flee. He slammed on the brakes, putting the car in park once it screeched to a full stop. When the humanoid-esque savage tried to make another grab at her he shot the thing again, this time joining Ivory in the mix.

The foe scuttled back, hopping onto a high gate in distress. He bolted out of his wheels to her aide, remembering her as his cashier the other day. In a strange sense of wanting to strike up a conversation about attracting rude individuals, he wanted to talk. Though her bruised and battered body wiped the desire clear from his head, for now.

Hoisting her was a bad idea, if her pain-induced holler gave any insight.

 _Shit, I hope nothing's broken_. "Hey, are you all right?"

She sagged to the ground while he loosely held her, examining her form to see if something jutted out at an odd angle. "Can you walk?" he questioned her, concern laid thick in his voice.

Pale legs sported dirt and pebbles, blood mixing in with the gravel well-developed on her knee caps. His right hand touched around her, doing a quick scan to feel anything obvious out of place.

Eerie, irregular moans floated to his ears, Dante looking up as the hoppity demon eased closer to them. He can fire away in masked glee, yet the presence of the injured posed too much of a risk to leave her defenseless.

Questions probed his head concerning the coincidence of the Messengers and this Hellish ogre taking interest in her. Demons and devils don't follow people out of habit unless for a specific reason. And this woman encountered these other-worldly critters twice. He needed to pull out his paranormal investigation skills to see if she checked out. Something didn't sit right with this circumstance.

Just as he tried to remember her name, she made an attempt for his and almost succeeded, if it wasn't for the last three letters to make his name 'Daniel.' Rendering his name close enough he gave a loose warning of his intentions; half-squinting his eyes after her pained howl nearly bombed his hearing, lifting her to the safety of his ride.

In the instance of a second he shielded his left arm from the ice knife the degenerate stabbed him with. The demon hunter moved away and closed the door before penetrating his fist into the troll's face. It flew backwards several feet, rolling back on its shaking legs, crouched and snarling at its abuse.

"Man, you guys are getting uglier by the minute." If he recalled that movie about the legions of travelers fighting for that gold ring, the creature bore an uncanny resemblance to that... human-troll. Except this gremlin carried the features of white skin, black eyes, a stronger body, and ice-wielding powers. The dagger-like knife in his forearm was actually a thick spear. "Your parents must realize that two uglies don't make a pretty baby."

His calm stroll belied the rising fire spreading throughout his limbs, quenching his thirsting hunger for a fight eluding him. "But maybe I can supply you with an extreme makeover. Might give you a better chance with the ladies, don't you think?"

He pulled the frozen rod out, throwing the bloodied object from him with a sneer. His attention focused on the gaping hole, engrossed at the feat considering he hadn't sustained an injury this bad since on that island town of Fortuna.

Red fleshy, pulpous muscle healed the vast wound from the bottom first. Thin, tube-like tendons curved in all directions over the tissue, dark veins connecting the fibers in a long channel to continue its proper function of mobility. A flash of a regenerating radius gritted his teeth, followed by a crimson river of blood hiding under reconnected skin.

Oh, what a luxury and a curse it is to heal while _feeling_ the damaged portion of his anatomy do so. The spasms and shocks of his body knitting together hampered on his nerves, Dante biting through the discomfort to retain his sanity. The average human would have passed out or even died from the torment the hole commanded to permit.

He guessed that endured something else his demonic heritage was good for―regenerating his health back from sustaining near fatal injuries. It wasn't all in vain though; he returned the misery onto his opponent.

While observing his healing arm, the snow-white varmint leapt past him. The hunter reached his right palm out and caught the thing on instinct by its ankle. "Since you painted the nice lady's legs in black and red, how 'bout I paint you in red only?"

From the upside-down position the monstrosity hung, Dante detected an exhale from its mouth; a gray puff of air crystallizing to take shape of a spear. It twisted to swipe at him, sucking in part of the draft that didn't form and breathed out sharply, the object releasing straight toward his heart. With minimal effort on Dante's behalf, he grabbed it with his left hand.

"Don't you know it's not nice to throw things? 'Cause what happens if it's done to you!" The growl that left his throat complemented the anger with which he used to pierce the spear in the ogre's chest. His lips quirked, sensing the fiend's flesh rip apart at the seams. The howl startled him, he thought he castrated a goat.

Muscle declined to keep the brute's structure together, the demon hunter reveling in the feel of the knife slicing into the bone. The white-toned beast screeched and writhed in torment, shifting its hands to reach up and pull out its blade stuck in its body.

Fueled by the anguished cry Dante yanked the inhuman savage over his head, slamming it down on its face, mocking its urge to flee. "Oh come now, you can scream louder than that. Let's see who has the bigger vocals: you or the lady!"

Still clutching its ankle Dante threw the monster in an arc in the opposite direction, letting its chalky visage free fall hard into the concrete. That indescribable sensation flooded his insides, but he recognized what took commonplace every time the weak proved imminent for the strong to conquer.

Bloodlust.

It was needed. Natural. Instinctive. Ingrained forever into the essential order of demons. Given the status or rank of a devil, the weaker fodder relented their strength to more challenging savages. Most of the time the Hell-bred operated alone, especially devils, yet the occasional necessity to butcher in savage mercy... had to commence every so often.

If they accumulated to kill off each other then he didn't give two shits, but humans they didn't need to mess with either. Let mortals chop each other to pieces by themselves, the damned shouldn't exacerbate their situation.

In the midst of gnawing on his chew toy, his eyes caught sight of a pair of brown orbs shaking in fear. She struggled to keep herself warm, he presumed, from falling into shock at the fictional foe that contended to eliminate her in a non-fictional way.

For the briefest moment, he lost focus on eliminating the threat in efficient haste and took to playing with his food. A habit unashamedly embedded into his DNA, but he had to curb it before it ran amok.

Reeling back from getting beside his person, he focused on his moral accountability to get her to safety. Then probing her suspicious actions after she cleaned up and calmed down.

A grunt passed through his lips, throwing the antagonist into a nearby vehicle, metal creaking and denting with its force. His hands withdrew his prized guns, twirling them in an arc before pointing them at his opponent.

" _Barafu_..." Dante halted his movements, tuning in to the soft vocals whispering out the strange word.

" _Retreat Barafu_." To the average passerby the words blended with the breeze, yet his demonic perception adjusted to the pitch of the voice's location; the hunter taking quick roving glances for the physical source.

" _Barafu_... _come to me_..." Dante whipped around behind him, his right ear picking up a presence beyond his ride. Ivory swung in its direction, eyes training to the darkness to allow him to focus on the elusive force.

A gush of wind enveloped his opponent in a sphere. Those weird, drunken-goat yells rose in volume until the globe ceased to transpire, leaving a demon-less creeper nowhere in sight.

"Ah, that's a let-down." He holstered his twin guns, standing a moment to see if his senses picked up anything amiss in the atmosphere. Maybe his mental faculties were a tad rusty from their lack of usage. He could have sworn he felt something other-worldly by him. The fearful woman sent out constant waves of paranoia on his radar, on the other hand the mystery voice hid in the shadows.

"I'm not finished eating," he toed the end of his boot on the pavement, a slender frown crossing his features from disappointment. Well, so much for a small piece of satisfaction coming from his hunting absence.

Not only did a lackluster fight come out of this, but his deprived shedding of blood and his clogged up _lizard_ drove him closer to the edge.

A man can be pushed so far until the strings holding his sanity breaks.

He trekked in a light jog until he approached the driver's side and opened it, concern overriding his limp battle to help his cashier. Her hunched over form wracked violent shivers throughout her being, teeth clacking so loud he imagined her to have broken them. Dante wondered if she bothered to turn the heat on, or if she entered the throes of hypothermia enough to do so.

He reached in the back seat and grabbed his leather jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders, squatting to view how badly her case presented.

"Do you have an asshole magnet attached to you or something?" He tried to approach her in a way that would calm her nerves, yet her shaking told him that she needed urgent care.

"Ah, well lucky you there's a hospital a couple of blocks─"

His quick reflexes caught her from leaning out the car, large swollen blue fingers making a grab at him. The mentioning of the sanatorium brought about a fear she cared not to face, almost jumping out of the transportation in protest of where he wanted to take her.

"N-no. I'm f-fine. My knees j-jus... they h-hurt isss a-all." Every word tumbled out her mouth preceded a shake that racked her face back and forth, appearing as if she shook her head to answer 'no.'

"Girl, you are frozen shitless. Why don't you want to go?"

He grabbed her left hand in both of his hands, rubbing his palms over hers to minimize the cold and insert body heat into her. He did not miss the wince smudging her expression, indicating it must've felt like knives brushing over her skin.

If the demon injected her with some magical ice, then he'd have to look at it himself. Still, he will taxi her there unless she gave him a convincing reason not to.

Brown-sugared orbs pleaded with him not to drive her to that location, searching a reason to explain the lack of going for medical treatment he could believe. Images of her placement there as a youth she vowed to never experience again.

"They're d-dirty."

Dante gazed at her, unconvicned.

"They-they... aren't c-clean."

Bull. Shit.

Was she running from someone? The cops had a warrant for her arrest and she needed to stay incognito? According to his standards, hospitals are the mecca of cleanliness. Unless a documentary revealed situations counter-effective to their sanitary habits and she caught wind of it.

"Do you have somewhere I can take you, 'cause the hospital looks pretty certain." Dante failed to relax the eyebrow muscles on his face from her earlier belief that the clinics are unclean.

"My-my h-house."

The thought of ever inviting a stranger to her place would have made her explode into a fit of giggles, growing into a cesspool of taunting dance moves to invite a man over _willingly_. Her dominion lived untainted by the male touch, as a show of confidence that she suited to prosper as an independent woman devoid of her mother's influence. And just how did he find and rescue her from trouble in a related fashion to Friday?

He reached over to his dashboard and turned on the heat, the warm air increasing in volume to knock the cold off, or it tried to. Frosted chills clung to her body, striving to keep her in the crisp environment; unwilling to let her thaw. At least her left hand felt some semblance of returning to normal. It's too bad she couldn't explore the texture of his hand─those enormous clunkers.

"Good. Where is it?"

"Paradise Plaz-Plaza."

Dante nodded once. He grew familiar with the area where she lived; kind of upscale neighborhood. A bit hard to imagine her living over there if she worked as a cashier, though. He heard about the monthly rent reaching over a grand a month to live in that domain.

How did she come up with the money for her lease and pay her utilities, unless she had a roommate? He didn't mean to pry, but that sector of the city required higher-paying jobs to sustain adequate residence.

"You have a roommate you can call?"

Her head shook, but Dante didn't know if it was the fault of the cold or if she meant it. After seeing the confusion on his face, she stuttered out the word.

"Family that lives near here?"

"N-no."

"Boyfriend?"

"No-nope."

 _Ooh la la_. Oh wait. That endured a bad thing since she had no one to support her when trouble arose. And a wee bit suspicious, though common, to be isolated from people. By choice or by crisis, he would delve into her background once she healed and gathered her wits about her.

"Well, let's get you home." He moved his hands away from her but she tightened her grip, Dante interpreting the move to stay there but her injuries needed attention.

"My-my pur...pus-"

"Your... perfume?" It amazed him often how many women attached themselves to material possessions when an emergency came about. The most trivial things they can operate without are the things they cling to most.

"My pup... pus-p...p─"

"Your puppy?" Well, that wasn't as materialistic as an inanimate object. It lived and breathed and made noise and pissed everywhere, and the attachment to a puppy was reasonable. But why would she have her pup out here at this time of night? If the four-legged critter ran away or hid somewhere, he can't look for it right now.

Furthermore, what is she doing traipsing over here if she stayed twenty minutes the other way? Not that she couldn't, it's just her being out here all alone with no one by her side raised dubious curiosity.

Oh man, women and their possessions. Just like cats and their ball of yarn; they go crazy if they can't find...

Oh, is that what she tried to say? He speculated her wanting her escaped perfume or her lost pooch because of the inability to speak properly. Instead, she kept making this "purr" sound and kept saying "puss" so she talked about her her kitty cat. Still, why in the hell did she bring her pet with her? Did someone baby-sit it? Maybe even take it out for a walk─which made little sense.

"Oh, you meant your pussy?"

Though damn near frozen from the inside out she managed to give a look of confusion, eyebrows crinkling and eyes enlarging to glare in skepticism, and dare he say fright.

"As... in your cat?"

_"My purse."_

Oh, that's what she meant! "Oh! Oh-oh that... that. Yeah. Your purse!" He peered into her eyes, caught in mild embarrassment on the two radically different levels of thought.. Whoops.

"And where is your purse hiding out?" He patted her hand once in understanding, a bit eager to move away to let his shame dissipate.

A little more wary of his actions, her left hand moved to point somewhere in the street. He followed in the general direction, looking all around him for the mobile locker. In a diagonal line away from his vehicle blossomed a monochromatic object flashing the vivid luminescence of the light, Dante running to retrieve the thing before trouble announced itself.

And speaking thus, why didn't anyone come outside to see the commotion? As loud as this woman busted her lungs, nobody bothered to take a peek at the action? Shit, if they didn't want to involve themselves in the debacle, spectators would have peeked through the curtains. It felt like a damn ghost town.

Retrieving the purse a rush of wind blew by him, carrying the smell of permafrost and blood. The woman had a decent amount of it on her lower legs yet this one pushed strong and stale. Pulling out Ivory he ventured nearer to the scent's origin, feet nimble and steady in case any back-up arrived.

"Ah hell." The cashier should count her blessings from this day forward, or thank her ability to scream loudly. She stood the chance to be in the place of this poor bastard on the ground.

It reminded him of chunky, clumped-up sand. The frozen breath from the creature's mouth made the frost-covered chunks sparkle in the night, as if a cloud of glitter sprinkled their glimmering essence over the pieces. Lumps of clothing still remained in a unique pattern, Dante able to tell that a male once lived and breathed in that spot.

Why did this person die and she didn't? Did this man try to rescue her and he paid the price? And more importantly, did she know him on an intimate level? The shattered puzzle piece relayed the notion that he wore only boxers; underclothes he may have trailed after her in?

Sighing in mental frustration at a bigger problem increasing towards a catastrophe he turned around, thinking he'd be forced into these streets prior to having a say about Vergil. It would be nice if the nearby residents came and took Vergil with them, but he guessed it wouldn't be fair if the elder twin couldn't defend himself.

It existed as Vergil's fault for not defending himself however.

Walking over to the passenger's side he opened the door and dove in, intending on moving her into the correct seat since the concept of mobility left her.

"I gotta move you over here so we can scramble." As before, he didn't wait on her permission to budge, hooking an arm behind her back and under her legs, scooting her over. She attempted to suppress the pain, but the desperate whimper revealed her sore disposition.

After closing the door he slid across the hood of his machine, entering the transportation with relative ease. Driving off into the street enabled many questions to pollute his psyche. The safety, cleaning, and interrogation of the girl lingered a constant, followed by the ice-troll, and the jigsaw lying broken on the ground. There wasn't a single thing he could do. Should no one call in the disturbance, since nobody seemed well enough to be onlookers, perhaps he might return here and investigate what transpired.

To catch a break in this profession never lasted long, even when the other devil hunters had time to themselves something came along and drew them back into the line of fire. He just hoped, for the girl's sake, she had no connection to Vergil and his shenanigans. Otherwise his problems were doomed to solve themselves by means of a bloody ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:Dante, you are wearing regular clothes.
> 
> Dante and Lady shares this special kind of relationship where I think one knows the other's moves when they try and hide something. So Dante can't hide stuff from her for long and vice versa. Off to another chapter I go...


End file.
